So, best friend, it’s been a little under six years of us being friends. It’s been almost a year of us being best friends. We’ve been through a life time of crap together in this year of friendship alone. We’ve bled, we’ve cried, we’ve both been at our lowest points, and I’ve had the pleasure of seeing you at your highest points.
It’s almost impossible to believe that you of all people would be the person I’d be calling my person, let alone my best friend. When we met at age fourteen, I was more interested in girls and fitting in with the party kids than I was in making friends, so you and I just started talking for a week, we didn't even really notice each other a first. We were both completely unaware that we were meant for each other.
We did have our moments where we did drift, then we reconnected again in high school, but I wasn’t ready yet. I wasn’t matured enough to be the best friend I wanted to be. Let's be honest, we both weren’t in it for the long haul. We spoke in several classes, shrugging off all of the opportunities that destiny gave us to be a part of each other’s lives. Until finally, a year after I graduated, we found ourselves in the same seven-hour college drawing class.
My first thought was not, “Yes, we’ve got another chance to be friends!” My thought was, in fact, “This jerk is sitting where I wanted to sit.”
I took the next best seat—the one next to you.
From that point on, it was all up hill form there. It started with lunch one day and then it turned into having dinner together nearly every night. I don’t know how you and I got so close so fast; it just happened. We spent every drawing class together attached at the hip. We were so close that whenever you’d go off on a tangent and rant, our professor would immediately look to me to separate the important information from your babbling and translate it back to him. You’ve always, talked a lot. Too much. Other people think it’s agitating, I think it’s charming. You fill the silence when I can’t talk but I don’t want to be alone, and you know when I need it the most.
You helped me through my toughest breakup, you even listened to those awful break up songs with me and then went on a late night drive. You took care of me when I thought I was worthless. Then, you helped me build myself back up again. You were there when I went through my four-month party stage and my downward spiral that landed me in the hospital, and you didn’t think any less of me when you visited me while I was at my lowest. Instead, you told me how unattractive I look in hospital pants and made fun of my no-stick socks. Then, you played Trash with me until you were forced to leave. You left me a swimsuit model Edition of Sports Illustrated and made me promise to let you flip through it when I got out.
You see, I know that you and I are terrible at this whole “friend” thing. We’re both so low-maintenance. We spend days at a time without speaking to each other. When we do speak, we’re almost always bickering. But we love each other. I’ve showed you who I am on the inside. I’ve showed you the person that I’ve never let anyone else see. Instead of making a big deal out of it, you always shrug it off and go about your business. You mean the world to me. Even though we’re miles apart now, I know that we’ll always be on this level with each other. There’s no going back, and I’m completely fine with that.
