It’s me again, your favorite person in the whole entire world (even though you probably won’t admit it). Here I am writing you a letter to post on my Odyssey page even though I sent you a text message two hours ago. I might be 8,500 miles away from you, but the Internet has made the world so small, I barely feel a lack of your presence.
That is, except when I sit on my bed watching YouTube videos all afternoon instead of going over to your house and talking on your bed, the one in your guest room. It was only one song’s worth of distance to your house, now it’s 300. I can’t believe I’d grumble because you’d make me walk to your house every time. I never realized what a blessing it was to have guaranteed happiness just three minutes away.
I barely feel a lack of your presence, except when I’m at school, and someone says a phrase that’s part of one of our inside jokes, and I burst out laughing, and everyone gives me a weird look. They couldn’t understand our inside jokes even if I explained it to them. To them, “Abigail” is a name, “Wasabi” is a condiment, and “Mint Chocolate Chip” is a flavor of ice cream. To us, simply put, they’re memories of good times in the past, a reminder of our best moments together.
It’s hard, living in a different sphere of the world from your best friend. It’s hard, when you can’t call me on the phone, because it’s 3 a.m. my time, and I’m probably asleep (or doing some last minute homework — junior year, am I right?). It’s hard, when I can’t video call because your exams are going on even though I have spring break. It’s hard to get through months without having a sleepover with you or sharing a banana split or going shopping together at the mall (even though I know you absolutely detest clothes shopping).
It’s hard, when I’m having a bad day, and tears are filling my eyes, and people want me to talk and tell them what’s wrong but I can’t, because they won’t understand, and you’re the only one that will, the only one that ever can, because you know me better than they ever could.
It’s only been five years, but I feel like I’ve known you for several lifetimes. I’ve come to accept all of you — the good and the bad — because that’s who you are, and I honestly wouldn’t change any of it. I can tell you anything without hesitation, can take your advice without second-guessing and can rely on you to bring out the best in me. You motivate me when I lose my confidence, inspire me when I’m feeling dull, make me laugh when I’m mad (which is a very, very hard feat) and just make my life a thousand times better simply by being in it.
Everyone else that I’m close to is amazing, they’re great, but they’re not you. I suppose that’s why it’s sort of a lie to say that I don’t feel the lack of your presence, because I do, all the time. It isn’t fair that you’re not here or that I’m not there. I feel like a part of me is missing, like I’m incomplete (“Here comes the sappy stuff,” you say, rolling your eyes).
But even though I am 8,500 miles away from you, you’re always right here in my heart. That’s right, I’m never free of you, no matter where I go. I’ve told you that I have an inner version of you in my brain, always yelling at me and making me laugh at the most inappropriate moments. But I’m glad for a mini version. She’s a decent substitute until I come see you again.
I can’t wait to see where life takes you. Maybe you’ll pursue microbiology or law, maybe you’ll go to Cambridge, maybe Harvard, maybe you’ll take up a job in New Zealand, maybe you’ll make your career in Ireland (you’d love that, wouldn’t you?). All I know is, we’re going to have to do it together.
I’m not doing this long distance thing again; it’s messing with me dude.
The Skittles to your Mint Chocolate Chip.