Convenience, Not Connection - Friendship on Lease

Who are my true friends? 
I’ve been asking myself this for a while now—especially whenever my folks start nagging. Somehow, the conversation always circles back to how many friends I have and how I spend time with all of them, here and there.

I used to think that having many friends meant being loved by many. But that’s not how it works, apparently.

There’s one friend I’ve known for over a decade—someone I considered close. Yet just today, I realized how little we truly know each other. I thought we were the kind of friends who showed up in joy and in sorrow. But we never really had that. What we had was convenience—tolerance dressed as intimacy. We were just... around for each other.

That realization hit me hard last night.

Some things, no matter how much heart you put into them, reveal their hollowness under close inspection. Even if both sides tried, if it never resonated beyond convenience, it remains just that—a temporary comfort. Like the furniture in a convenience store: you’re there to serve a purpose, not to be cherished.

And so it hit me—how lonely I truly am. It’s not their fault. It’s mine. I gave too much of myself away. I invested deeply, and with that came expectations. That’s the root of all sorrow, they say—expectation. And they’ve been right all along.

So now, to find myself again, to mend the broken places, I will retreat. Defeated, yes—but not destroyed. I’m still here. And I’m still going on.

By Edgar Degas - "In a Café"