Letter #2: Shiny-tops and Soda Pops

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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