An Open Letter To My Best Friend Who's My Boyfriend

An Open Letter To My Best Friend Who's My Boyfriend

The butterflies are real...

To My Boyfriend,

Since day one, I've known you were different than other guys. You were unashamedly yourself, and that's one of the many reasons I love you.

You are my best friend, and you have been for over 5 years now. But more importantly, you're my life partner. You've proven to me over the last 3 years that you will stick with me through the highs and lows. Even when I want to give up on myself, you believe in me and push me to do better.

I remember when we first tried dating freshman year, (I know, I know, we don't talk about freshman year. But I am talking about it.) and you kept carrying me everywhere even though I didn't want you to.

Imagine how ridiculous we looked, you running down the high school hall with a seven-year-old looking person draped over your shoulder, kicking you and laughingly screaming for you to put them down.

It seems crazy to me that from that bizarrely immature place, we managed to morph into this real couple. We've dealt with more than our share of hardships, and I know I don't make it easy on you, but I hope that we have what it takes to make it the rest of our lives, regardless of how many bad puns we both make.

You've been my best friend for almost six years now, and I'm incredibly blessed to have you as my boyfriend as well. You can always make me laugh, even when I don't really want to. You know me better than anybody else, myself included. And you've survived meeting my family, and STILL, want to continue dating me! Which, trust me, is a feat. They're pretty weird, but so are you.

You know, when we celebrated our one year anniversary, I told you I felt butterflies in my stomach every time I saw you. And I'm both relieved and saddened to report that I no longer feel butterflies in my stomach. Instead, they seem to have moved upward into my chest. Because when I wake up next to you in the morning, my heart soars just like the butterflies.

You're the best part of my every day, and even though I drive you crazy most days, I hope I'm a good part of your day as well. And I hope you at least partially understand the gibberish I've just spouted into this, but if not I'll be there to translate it. I promise you I'll always be here to translate my nonsense into English for you.


Your Best Friend/ Girlfriend

Cover Image Credit: Author's photo

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Sorry Not Sorry, My Parents Paid For My Coachella Trip

No haters are going to bring me down.

With Coachella officially over, lives can go back to normal and we can all relive Beyonce’s performance online for years to come. Or, if you were like me and actually there, you can replay the experience in your mind for the rest of your life, holding dear to the memories of an epic weekend and a cultural experience like no other on the planet.

And I want to be clear about the Beyonce show: it really was that good.

But with any big event beloved by many, there will always be the haters on the other side. The #nochella’s, the haters of all things ‘Chella fashion. And let me just say this, the flower headbands aren’t cultural appropriation, they’re simply items of clothing used to express the stylistic tendency of a fashion-forward event.

Because yes, the music, and sure, the art, but so much of what Coachella is, really, is about the fashion and what you and your friends are wearing. It's supposed to be fun, not political! Anyway, back to the main point of this.

One of the biggest things people love to hate on about Coachella is the fact that many of the attendees have their tickets bought for them by their parents.

Sorry? It’s not my fault that my parents have enough money to buy their daughter and her friends the gift of going to one of the most amazing melting pots of all things weird and beautiful. It’s not my fault about your life, and it’s none of your business about mine.

All my life, I’ve dealt with people commenting on me, mostly liking, but there are always a few that seem upset about the way I live my life.

One time, I was riding my dolphin out in Turks and Cacaos, (“riding” is the act of holding onto their fin as they swim and you sort of glide next to them. It’s a beautiful, transformative experience between human and animal and I really think, when I looked in my dolphin’s eye, that we made a connection that will last forever) and someone I knew threw shade my way for getting to do it.

Don’t make me be the bad guy.

I felt shame for years after my 16th birthday, where my parents got me an Escalade. People at school made fun of me (especially after I drove into a ditch...oops!) and said I didn’t deserve the things I got in life.

I can think of a lot of people who probably don't deserve the things in life that they get, but you don't hear me hating on them (that's why we vote, people). Well, I’m sick of being made to feel guilty about the luxuries I’m given, because they’ve made me who I am, and I love me.

I’m a good person.

I’m not going to let the Coachella haters bring me down anymore. Did my parents buy my ticket and VIP housing? Yes. Am I sorry about that? Absolutely not.

Sorry, not sorry!

Cover Image Credit: Kaycie Allen

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For Anyone Who Knows The Pain Of A Broken Heart

Blindsided. Shattered. Broken. Empty.

For anyone that knows the pain of a broken heart.

You meet for the first time after a few days of messaging back and forth. They look just like their profile photo, but a bit more magical. It’s a little awkward at first because you have a connection, but it so far exists only over the phone. But it doesn’t last long: you start to warm up and the conversation is as easy as it was while texting. Their eyes are a warm green.

You sit in the movie theatre thinking about how cheesy it is to see a movie on the first date, but whatever it’s The Shape of Water. The plot is a bit weird and the cinematography is fantastic, but you can’t quite focus because they’re right next to you. Inches away. You look down and your fingers are so close to touching, with your heart thundering in your chest. Quite nice cheekbones.

An electric shock radiates from the first touch. Goosebumps raise in tandem with the hairs on the back of your neck. Warmth. Excitement. Soft. Holy shit.

The first kiss is ten times that, easy. You can’t wait to see them again, your thoughts consumed by them. The shape of their nose. How one of their eyebrows curls up at the end. That imperceptibly crooked-toothed smile that only makes them more perfect. Is it infatuation? Is this just a fling? Probably, but you decide to enjoy it while it lasts.

Pretty soon they spend the night at your place. Fears, hopes and dreams. Laughter and flirting. Plans for the summer and early retirement. They model and you can see why. Video games and pizza. The sound of their heartbeat. The fragrance of their neck. You don’t want to fall asleep because you want to harvest every possible second of time with them, but you do anyway. Sweet dreams.

A light snore gently wakes you. Cascading lashes. Freckles you didn’t notice the night before. You grin like an idiot and think to yourself how you want to wake up to this every day.

The days fly by. With them, you feel as if a part of you that has long been missing has returned. You smile more. You tell them your insecurities and feel accepted. Relief. They whisper in your ear how much you mean to them. They have no idea how much they mean to you. Words can’t describe. Counting stars. Feeding the ducks behind your house. Shoplifting at Target. Lunch at the park. Candlelight and slow dancing to Louis Armstrong. Infatuation evolves.

Days turn into weeks. Weeks into months. They say it first while laying on top of you midafternoon. You’ve never said the words before. Not like this. Not to them. You lock eyes. Pools of green. You ask if they really mean it because those three words hold so much value to you. They mean it sincerely. You say it back knowing that you mean it, but you’re terrified.

Vulnerable and exposed, the box is open.

It’s perfect. Everything you are looking for. Friend, partner, lover. Bliss and ecstasy. Easy to sleep, easier to wake up. The days bleed into each other. Lots of photos. Friends are happy for you and parents approve. What more could you want?


A phone call. They weren’t supposed to move to New York until September, but they got signed to their dream model agency and they’re moving in less than a month. They sound like they already made up their mind. You thought you were in this together. The words are cold and unfeeling. You’re not a crier, but you can’t help it. You don’t understand. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. Please, don’t.




You can’t breathe through the sobs. Your mind is reeling. Pain, confusion, anger. So much sorrow. How could they treat you like this? You don’t deserve this. You thought you were loved. There must be further explanation. You don’t understand. You miss them, you want them, you need them. You get in bed and fall asleep crying. Alone. So very much alone.

The next day is unimaginable pain. The day after is even worse, if that’s possible. The person you want to talk to most about how you feel is gone. You know you should eat, but food doesn’t sustain you. Your friends ask what’s wrong because you look dead inside. You are dead inside. No smiles. No jokes today. Just pain. They took a piece of you when they ended the phone call. A piece you will never get back.

You can’t bring yourself to delete the photos even if everyone says you should. You tell your friends you will, but you know you won’t. How could you? Look at how happy you were, at how you felt in that moment. You save them on your flash drive. Hot, silent tears while folding laundry. Cringing when mentioning them now as your ex. Exhaustion.

It’s two weeks later. It still hurts, but more of a dull ache than a sharp sting. You miss them. You occasionally go through your photos and videos with them. You wish the best for them in their life. You hope New York is everything they want and that they are happy, even if you’re not in this moment. You know that you’re going to be okay. You are glad that you got the chance to be with someone so charismatic and full of life.

You still love them. A part of you knows you always will. Maybe one day you’ll see them again and the stars will align to reunite you. Just maybe.

In the meantime, it’s back to the real world.

Time to close the box.

Cover Image Credit: Pixabay, CC0 Creative Commons

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