# The Distance of Unfamiliarity

The room next door can feel impossibly far without ever stepping across the threshold. The moment resistance stirs within, the path stretches. Distance is born in the heart, not in space. The man who travels to England without a second thought—that very man may find himself unable to visit an old friend living a stone's throw away, held back by nothing but the rust of disuse.

Friends and friendship are beautiful feelings, but only if you hold them fast. Silence, creeping in like a slow poison, scatters thorns across the path of friendship; sometimes tall grass springs up there, thickets take root. Friendship does not sustain itself. You must tend it with intention, with care. Neglect it, and an old face is shouldered aside by a new mask.

Call less and less, and one day you cannot call at all—not the person you once spoke to every single day. Distance is a curious thing... There is no way to sense beforehand when and how it will grow between two people, or draw them close again.