We have been friends for 9 years, and siblings for about as long.
You have seen me smoke heroin off of tin foil.
I watched you say “I do.”
You saw me finally find my match in a loud, hairy man.
I stood by you when you locked your keys in your car for the 2nd time in a week after we went to the movies.
You helped me move more times than I’d like to admit, and you held onto my cat while he was doing his best to get away from you.
I answered your phone calls at 3am, and 3pm when you were having girl problems and didn’t know which way was up.
You gave me the space to exist with no expectation to be anything other than the giant dumpster fire I am. No judgment, just acceptance.
You are the dock I tie my boat to when the sea wants to reclaim me.
You were the one who saw me cry because I held keys in my hand. Keys that were mine and only mine, for the first time in a very, very long time.
You were the first person I told I was pregnant and within the same breath, I asked if you would be her godparent. You didn’t hesitate for a moment with your answer.
You are the person I know I can always call no matter the circumstances and you will answer.
You are the person I can go sit at a pond with and have a passive conversation about death, legos, consciousness, class solidarity, parenting, the life cycle of a snail, which clouds are our favorites, how language has evolved, and why farts are still funny at 30 years old and come home feeling recharged instead of drained.
Together we survived 3 relationships where we were not allowed to be friends because of the genitals we possess. Somehow none of these people could see the threads we hold between us and know that not a single one of them was romantic. Regardless, we have survived longer than each of those relationships. We may not have met in a conventional way, but nothing about either of us is conventional.
We have each been the one to pull the other back down to earth when we tried to do our best impression of Icarus.
We have each been homeless and had to rely on the other to keep our heads above water.
We have each had to ask the other “Is this abuse? Because I can’t tell.”
I have not always been a good friend. I had to mature and learn who I am, and sometimes you were a casualty of my growing pains. You understood that and never stopped being by my side. You have always been there for the messy parts of my life, and never once made me feel differently about myself. You always forgave me even when I didn’t deserve it.
That is what I admire most about you. Your genuine acceptance of every shade of human. You always hold space for those you care about. Even during the turbulence you are experiencing at the moment, you are still holding space for those around you. You say you admire my strength and would never be able to emulate that. But this is something not even I could do.
Over the past couple of years, it was my turn to be a casualty of your growing pains. But I did my best JayBie impression, I held space for you and kept your seat open so it was still there for you when you were ready for it. It hurts me to see you hurt, but the glow I have seen on your face these past couple of weeks as you embrace things that have been buried deep has been so beautiful. I am incredibly proud of you for making extremely hard decisions and essentially lighting your entire life on fire so you can rebuild the foundation.
In the words of Daniel Sloss, don’t force the puzzle pieces if they’re not meant for that puzzle. My own puzzle has multiple JayBie-shaped pieces that fit exactly how they’re supposed to. I couldn’t imagine navigating life without you in it, and I am happy you came back to your seat. It will always be there for you.
I'll end this emotional bullshit with your favorite joke of mine; What's the difference between a dirty bus stop and a lobster with breast implants?
kloveyoubye.
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