A Relationship

A Relationship Like No Other

This is the story of a relationship like no other since the very first moment of our existence;

Blessedly, weak and unaware of what the future has in store for me and this friend of mine.

Even long before I became aware of his real existence, even then there was a special feeling about him within me. He was usually quiet and reassuring while I was whaling about food and other needs of infancy.

At possibly the age four he would make his feelings known by awaking every now and then but very quiet; I may have been aware that there was something but no knowledge of what this awakening is or why?

As time went by our relationship grew deeper and this peaceful coexistence continued uneventful. We lived in comfort until one night he came up with an amazing story of incredible emotional feelings that I lost myself in a state of excitement, beauty, wonder and an incredible climax of emotions that I had never felt or experienced before.

That changed everything. From that moment on, our relationship went to a different level. I became more playful. I continually wished for him to play with me knowing that this is a secret just for the two of us. A secret that I felt is very sacred and not to be shared with anyone.

In the meantime, a realization dawned on me that this friend is particularly interested in beauty, affection and tender thoughts. So, I will tell him tales big and small of people and places that he would love to see, feel and touch, and these tales would give him more strength and power and he would wonder about for a long time in each of those places. At the end he would come back exhausted but very happy and satisfied.

As time went by, I noticed that my friend was changing in ways I could not fully understand. He seemed wiser now, more deliberate. No longer did he simply appear at random; instead, his visits became moments of quiet significance, almost as though he was choosing the right time to reveal himself with greater pride and joy.

Sometimes, he would take me to places I had never imagined—landscapes bathed in soft light, people and places of impossible beauty, or oceans and forests alive with whispers of excitement.. Other times, he would rest silently with me in a shadowed corner of thoughts, as if guarding me from things I couldn’t see. In those moments, his presence was like a soft pillow, reminding me that I was never alone.

It became clear to me that my friend knew me better than I knew myself. He seemed to understand what I longed for before I could put it into words. When I felt joy, he magnified it. When I felt sorrow, he held it with me until it faded away. And when I was afraid, he would weave a story so comforting that the fear itself would dissolve, leaving only warmth behind.

But there was something else, something deeper. I began to feel that my friend and I were connected in a way that was not entirely bound by time. It was as though he had always been with me, not just since the day I was born, but perhaps long before that. His stories felt older than the world I knew, carrying the scent of places and ages far beyond my reach.

One night, in the stillness between waking and dreaming, I asked him the question that had been lingering in my heart: “Who are you, really?” He didn’t answer directly. Instead, he smiled—at least, I felt him smile—and said, “I am the part of you that listens when the rest of the world is in chaos.”

From then on, I understood that my friend was not simply a visitor. He was a companion stitched into the fabric of my being, a keeper of my secret thoughts and a guide through my imaginative mind. And so, our journey continued—sometimes quiet, sometimes wild, BUT always bound by that invisible thread of trust that had been there since the very first day of our lives.

Years turned into decades, and my friend and I grew older together, wiser together.

Through childhood’s wild imaginings, through the restless days, months and years of youth, through the long labor of middle age, he was always there—sometimes at my side, sometimes lingering in the quiet corners of my mind, waiting for me to call on him.

In my younger years, I could summon him with ease. A stray melody, a sudden scent, or the simple act of closing my eyes was enough to bring him into vivid life. He would respond with the same enthusiasm we had known since the beginning—ready to listen, ready to wander, ready to lead me through unseen worlds.

But as the years passed, things changed. In our fifties, he began to slow down, as though each visit cost him more effort than before. His laughter—yes, I had come to recognize it—was softer, and the adventures he led me on seemed shorter, fading too soon. Still, I cherished them, grateful for any time he could give me.

Now, in my late seventies, I try as I always did—reading him the most beautiful tales I can find, describing the colors of sunsets I’ve seen, calling up old memories that once made him leap to life. I speak to him with all the tenderness and urgency I have left, hoping to awaken in him the same passion he once stirred in me.

But more often than not, he remained still. His presence is faint, like a shadow that has thinned in the afternoon light. I can sense him listening—always listening—but rarely does he answer with the same vibrant energy I once knew he had. It is not rejection, I hope, but simply the way that all things change as time goes by.

And so I sit with him now, in this gentler season of our friendship, not chasing the bright storms of the past but treasuring the quiet companionship we still share. We no longer run together; we simply rest side by side, knowing that the journey we have had—spanning a lifetime—needs no more proving. Our bond has become something beyond excitement, beyond even words. It is simply there, like the final ember in a long-burning fire—still warm, still real but with faded glow.

BUT, something happened on a night unlike any other. I had long since given up expecting the bright sparks of our past to return. I was content to simply feel him near, even if silent, as I drifted between waking and sleep.

However, that evening, there was something different in the air—something almost electric. It began as the faintest stirring, a whisper of the old energy I remembered so well. I spoke to him softly, not daring to hope, but he answered. Not in words, but in the way I had always known—through the sudden rush of warmth in my chest, the swelling of joy that seemed to lift me out of myself.

Then, all at once, he came alive. The years fell away as if they had never been. We were running again, laughing in the wind in some impossible place, chasing colors I could barely name. The sky above us shifted through every shade of dawn and dusk, and the air itself was filled with the scents of all the places we had been or ever dreamed of.

He took me by the hand—no, by the heart—and led me through memories we had built together: the golden fields of childhood, the crowded streets of youth, and the quiet gardens of later years. Each one shone brighter than I had remembered, as though he had been saving them for just this moment.

At the crest of a hill that I knew so well, he stopped. His eyes—if eyes they were—held mine, and I understood without words that this was goodbye. Not a sad parting, but a gentle release.

“You’ve carried me well,” he seemed to say. “And I have carried you even better”

Then, like fog at sunrise, he was gone. No fading, no struggle—just gone, leaving behind a peace so deep it filled every corner of my body and soul.

I woke with tears on my face, not from sorrow but from gratitude. My great friend, who had been with me since the very first moments of my life, had given me one last gift: the reminder that our journey was never truly about excitement or adventure, but about the quiet, unshakable love that had bound us all along.

And now, though I can no longer call him as I once did, I know he is not lost. He lives in the spaces between my heartbeats, in the stillness before I dream. And when my own time comes to step beyond the hill, I believe he will be waiting, ready to walk with me to the Promised Land if such a thing does exist.