We were just a port. We were the port for the newcomers. We were the port for the travellers. We were the port for the wanderer. We were the port for the arriver. Our refuge has been a temporary safety but never a stationary home. We are like the guardians of the lighthouse, welcoming them with open arms and waving them on their way when theyâre ready to leave. And when weâve done the job, we go home and realise just how lonely we are. We were not family but colleagues, with a shared sense of purpose but no shared sense of belonging. It feels almost like we will be remembered but not missed, and no pieces of our heart are taken away because none has been given in the first place, it simply has been rented out with no attachment conditions applied and six years warranty.
This was a piece from my diary about my group of friends in high school who scattered after graduation. I was feeling lost because I grew up wanting a group of friends reflective of those 2000s tv shows only to find myself slightly more alone. The bonds I have with these characters are not entirely severed, but my expectations have definitely rearranged as I grow older.





















