Dear First College Roommate,

I first heard of your existence when you sent me the cutest text message introducing yourself as my new living buddy. We were randomly selected, that is true, but for some reason, I feel like we were meant to be in each other's lives.

From stalking each other on social media, to late night conversations of getting to know one another over text messages, we started a relationship, which I don't think either of us thought would turn into the immense amount of love we share for each other today.

We met in July, and you showed up in your Tennessee Volunteer shirt, bright-eyed and ready to go, and me in my first ever orange article of clothing, a little anxious to find out what kind of person you were. Were you going to be obnoxious? Would you use the word "like" ten times in one sentence when you spoke? Were you into football? (Because if you wouldn't have been, I would have probably had to request a new roommate, but no hard feelings, though.) But everything was fine, and you were sweet as soda pop. See what I did there? Did you like that reference? I assumed you would, considering how VOL FOR LIFE we are.

You introduced me to so many new things as we wondered campus together, including Calhoun's on the River, spirit jerseys, and Butch Jones. Our first night together in Fred Brown during orientation was so chill and calm that I just knew, as we each flopped down into our beds, paying no attention to anything but our lit up phone screens, not even realizing that it was completely silent in the room, that we were going to get along just fine in Massey when August rolled around and the school year began.

And here we are now, still both alive and able to speak to one another without pulling each other's hair out, and if you ask me, I think that is pretty great! Sure, sometimes you use my coffee mugs and then you don't clean them, and yes, you may wake me up at seven in the morning wondering how to use the printer. Maybe you might even watch "Bob's Burgers" without me once or twice and try and keep it a secret. That's all OK. I can live with these minor "issues" because you put up with so much from me, too, like how when I watched all of the first season of "American Horror Story" in one sitting and I decided to tell you the whole storyline at eleven at night when you were trying to sleep. Or how I asked to borrow your fuzzy socks once, and three weeks later, they're still in my possession (I've washed them three times, don't worry.)

We put up with each other, and I wouldn't ever wish for a different person to have to deal with on a daily basis.

Love, your duet partner, your fashion advisor, your Netflix bae, and the other person who sleeps in the room.