Vox Meditantis

12th October 2024

The library’s near-empty this late on a Saturday. Just me and the shadows stretching across the tables, long fingers of darkness that move when I shift in my seat. There’s something almost sacred about it – the way the last light filters through those massive windows, turning everything amber and gold. Echoes of footsteps from earlier still seem to hang in the air, or maybe that’s just my imagination filling the silence with ghosts of the day.

Been thinking about Marcus a lot. About all of them, really. It’s wild how friendship can feel like this solid thing one moment and then completely intangible the next, like trying to hold onto water. We’ve been mates since Year 7, but lately there’s this distance I can’t quite name. Not drama, nothing concrete – just this sense that we’re all becoming shadows of who we used to be, drifting apart in ways that feel inevitable and heartbreaking at the same time.

Maybe it’s the news cycle getting to me. Hurricane Milton absolutely devastated Florida earlier this week, and seeing the footage – entire communities underwater, people’s lives just… gone – it puts things in perspective, doesn’t it? Makes you realise how fragile everything is. How the connections we have with people are the only things that really matter when the world gets chaotic like this.

There’s this question that keeps echoing in my head, bouncing off the walls of my skull like it’s trying to find a way out: What have I been putting off doing? And honestly? Reaching out properly. Really talking to them, not just the surface-level group chat banter or the “you good?” messages that don’t actually invite real answers. I’ve been putting off being vulnerable, I suppose. Scared they won’t reciprocate, scared I’ll come across as needy or intense. It’s easier to keep things light, to maintain the illusion that we’re still as close as we were.

But why? Fear, mostly. Fear of rejection dressed up as respect for their space. Fear that if I admit how much their friendship means to me, I’ll somehow diminish it by making it feel like pressure. The irony isn’t lost on me – that by protecting these friendships, I might be letting them slip away entirely.

The shadows have grown longer now, merging into one continuous darkness that pools beneath the shelves. There’s an echo of laughter from somewhere in the building – maybe the cleaners, maybe just the library settling – and it reminds me that spaces hold memories, that every conversation we’ve had has left some imperceptible mark on the world.

Tomorrow, I’ll text Marcus. Not some vague “let’s hang soon” that we both know means nothing, but an actual invitation. Something specific. Because if this past year has taught us anything – between the climate disasters, the ongoing wars, the general sense that the world’s unravelling at the seams – it’s that time isn’t guaranteed. And I’d rather be someone who tried too hard to maintain connection than someone who let it slip away through inaction.

The reverence I feel isn’t religious, exactly, but it’s spiritual in its own way. A recognition that friendship is something worth treating as sacred, something that deserves attention and effort and the courage to be honest about how much it matters.

The library’s closing soon. Time to gather my things and step back out into the world, carrying these shadows and echoes with me.

Late 2024, marked by intensifying climate emergencies and ongoing global conflicts, frames the diary’s reflections on fragility and connection. In early October, a powerful hurricane struck Florida, part of a pattern of escalating extreme weather that underscored debates about climate resilience and infrastructure. Across the Atlantic, Europe faced energy, cost‑of‑living, and migration pressures, while the war in Ukraine and violence in the Middle East continued shaping headlines and public consciousness. Universities and schools navigated post‑pandemic learning gaps alongside rising mental‑health concerns and digital overload. In the months that followed, rebuilding efforts, humanitarian appeals, and policy discussions on climate adaptation and social cohesion remained central, reinforcing the entry’s themes of vulnerability and communal care.

Bob Lynn | © 2025 Vox Meditantis. All rights reserved. | 🌐 Translate