Bud

You wanted to be my buddy, and I wanted it too.
You showed me the sports you loved. I tried to love them, for I oh so wanted to be the buddy you wanted.
I didn't really want the sports, I wanted you. I faked it for a while, but lost interest.
I tried to show you the things I loved. Music, politics, people, places and all the things buddies need to have in common. You didn't want any of them. You wanted to be the senior buddy. The buddy who's interests are followed by the little buddy.
Now there is a hole in our buddydom. It ain't working.
Can we be friends? Friends who respect each other's interests, feign enthusiasm for them from time to time. Always respectful and interested in the nut of humanity that underlies the friend? It doesn't seem to work that way either. No amount of effort and patience can make it happen.
I still want active intimacy of some sort. Intimacy that involves respect, pride, encouragement and other forms of love. The things that males need from their father.
I guess not. That water went downstream years ago. I wanted that water badly. Sometimes I convinced myself that I had what I needed from your crek. Mostly I just felt thirsty.
I don't want to be your buddy now. If I can't be your son, I'll settle for being your friend. But the ship has sailed on the buddy thing. I don't need that and don't want it. I'm a dick of a man, not suitable to be anyone's little buddy.
I don't think friendship is even possible now. The calendar keeps turning. There's less time left than has passed. The glass is less than half empty. Passive intimacy is all that is left.
Ouch.