An adult in the basement

My best friend turned 30 last week. He’s become a man.

He’s married and working to help and improve this society. He has big big heart, a cheeky smile similar to mine, a goofy walk. His voice is low and calm, he likes people and people like him.

I haven’t seen him since his ‘big yes’, where I wasn’t invited, except for a piece of cake later that day… I guess my best friend never saw me as his close friend, but just as an old friend. I guess, again, that these are the things that happen when you become an adult. Well, I admit that even in front of this rational, understandable thought my eyes see bitter.

But hey..

But hey, despite the sad tone I put in the words above, I am so so grateful to have tons of great and lovely memories with him: it was my pleasure and honour to spend the childhood with him.

We grew up, we walked along together for so many years and we made so many silly things I can’t even start counting them. That was truly special, and I don’t care if it’s over and we are distant now: somehow, somewhere there is a thread ready for us to be hold again all the time.

When we were fifteen we used to spend all Winter Sundays hiding in his basements. We could stay there for hours, (like not joking 10?), without feeling like going out and get some fresh hair. We had music, the guitars and so many things to say: jokes, rants, inappropriate dramas, bullshits mainly. We basically consumed this album while in the basement, cementing our personalities. We were goofy rockstars.

The song tattooed on my mind is “Swallowed” by Bush. Basement, and grunge, are forever.

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