Yesterday was sad.

I had a lovely few days with a lovely distance-divided friend. She came to Vancouver to visit some of her friends and then she left. In moments like these, I'm really sad. Because eventually, you realize how the time you spent with them is so precious. And here you are, without them, but with more heaviness on your heart than when you started.

I used to feel a similar feel in my childhood when my cousins would visit from Washington. They'd stay for some time and when they left, I always felt sad. I felt deep longing to go with them, and a grief that wouldn't go away. But she left, and that's that. 

I love hanging out with different people because they teach you so much as you're willing to learn. Different people teach you about themselves, bartering away bits and pieces of their existence in order to get a laugh from you or make you relate. Some teach you about themselves by not wanting any form of contact at all. Those are the easiest, but the most sad. 

However there is a specific sort of person who teaches you, about yourself. You see, when we communicate, we never trust one another. Because there's always something you have the ability of hiding. Maybe not a white lie, but perhaps a cleverly spoken sentence. Not an abusive, appalling fib, but an acting of the stage... Of sorts.  

Sometimes you speak to someone, and it seems as though no matter how hard you try, you'll never get through to them. Sometimes, a magical thing happens, and two humans click. I'm not entirely sure who coined this term, but it seems to be the most accurate. Two humans click, and suddenly, every topic they find themselves delving into is full of rich and juicy stories to tell. Every passion's flame is fanned with an equally passionate passion. And every smile, frown, or accent spoken induces some sort of giggle or a hmm. 

And then, sometimes, very rarely, when you least expect it, you meet someone who makes the most sense. Everything that they say is nearly profound, and you're not sure how to respond. Their words and the way they're said are beautiful. You sit from time to time, looking into the eyes of this other human and you need not speak a word. With some, you'd be able to carry on without awkwardness for a good amount of time. With others, you'd rather get up and pretend to check the kitchen for snacks. But this one human has got you sitting on the couch all night, staring into their eyes. Trying to figure them out. Making a face to see how it affects them. Looking away, but then catching them staring at you every minute or so. This person is like a mirror, reflecting everything you think and say. Everything you want to do, or slightly envy. They're standing in front of you like a reflection of your insides and you don't know what to say, because you don't need to. You don't know what to say because neither do they. And you don't know what to say because you're not sure if it's more enjoyable speaking to them, or seeing just how long they want to stare at you too. 

And it's at this moment that you learn something. It's now that you realize you have absolutely no control. With anyone else, the conversation was yours and you had them. With some, you simply enjoyed the company. But this human puts you into a strange comatose. A state in which you aren't sleepy, but find yourself falling asleep. You suddenly realize you're playing a deadly game of chess. You realize you're forgetting how to play. And scariest of all... you're not sure if your opponent is new to the game, or a grand master. 

Finding a gun pressed against your temple, suddenly words have more gravity. Every breath is planned and every touch is cautious. You want to love them, but you don't want them to suddenly pull the trigger out of panic or shock. But then amidst it all, you realize that you don't even know who's hand is gripping the pistol.

I'm sad because I was the one who decided to sit down at the table and play.

What I didn't realize was that I sat down to play myself. 

And every emotion, and every thought. In every single way that we related. All of that was only inside of my mind, and thus, it wasn't really real. It was me. But reality is not me, but it is God. 

Reality is that no matter how many games I play, God builds the chairs and the table. He painted on the blocks and he carved out the chessmen. He is watching his children interact, and within that interaction, I have failed miserably.