Dear you,
"Dead-leaves and the dirty ground when I know you’re not
around. Shiny-tops and soda pops when I hear your lips make a sound.”
-The White Stripes lyrics
Hi. It’s me again. Ever feel like we have a weird, wonderful
thing? I feel like that all the time. This is an interesting friendship.
Haven’t known you that long, but it’s been great. From sitting on my roof
talking late at night, to singing random songs at random times, to trading tiny notes, to
sharing deep painful secrets – this has been great.
Thank you for that. It’s meant a lot.
You said something one time that was lovely. “I just want to
give a safe haven for you. That's it. A little bubble set apart where you
can talk about anything or tell me anything or just be yourself.” And I said
you could be that for me, if you would let me be that for you. I want to be
that for you. You should have somebody like that. Somebody safe and quiet and
okay. I want to be a person like that for you.
But being your friend is kind of hard. I like it, don’t get
me wrong. But in a way, it is hard. The hardest thing about knowing you is that
I enjoy knowing you. It's weird, but that is hard, for some reason. When you tell me something, I mentally lock it up and guard
it and savor it. I don’t even know why. I love figuring out the bits and pieces
that make you who you are. I like figuring people out to begin with, but you
have this thing where you keep me guessing. It’s neat. I like figuring out
stuff about you. You’re unpredictable in a sane sort of way. Sometimes you
remind me of myself. A lot. And that’s cool too. I just like getting to know
you.
Maybe I’ve treasured everything about you.
And sometimes you tell me something about you that says
you’re hurting. And I always have this overwhelming desire to say or do all the
right stuff to make you feel better, and not hurt. But I never can. I feel so
paralyzed. And that’s the second hardest thing about knowing you, that I’m not
sure what to do with knowing you. It’s lame, isn’t it? But yeah. Being your
friend is hard, because I feel like I should do so much better.
If I could, I'd make it all better. I don't know what you need; I remain clueless. But I want to help, and I would, if you'd let me. I could make you warm cookies, or sing your favorite songs. I could slow-dance with you. I could listen to you rant about it all, over a mug of your ever-faithful, French-pressed, half-caffeinated/half-decaf coffee. I could hold your hand, and squeeze it ever so often, just to let you know that someone's there. I could play you dumb YouTube videos, or just sit and be there with you - not judging, not jumping to hasty conclusions, not rebuking - but just understanding, listening, accepting you fully. I hope you know that I do accept you fully. I understand. I'm not judging. I appreciate you.
And yet, I remain so incapacitated.
But I think it’s lovely that you don’t really judge me on my
incapacitatedness. (ß I made up a word, I think.) And I won’t judge you
either. So yeah…just a note to tell you being your friend is hard, but I think
it’s worth it anyways. Not trying to make you feel bad or awkward or anything.
You’re cool. Don’t worry.
Ugh. This isn’t how I wanted to say it.
You just never get old to me. I don’t get tired of you. So
let’s keep this up.
-
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