Best friend,

We don't always agree; we annoy each other to no end; we've seen each other ugly cry too many times to count; and we sometimes go far too long without talking.

You've painted me things, drawn me things, and sent me quotes that you think I might need. You know me like no one else does, in ways that no one else does, and the number of times you have been there for me when I needed you is immeasurable. You've held me in darkened school busses and promised me my heart was pure. You've spent hours upon hours convincing me of my worth, of my beauty, and of my talent.

And it breaks me that you forget your own.

Of all the souls in the universe, yours is the most honest, most pure, most inconceivably wonderful that I've ever known. You shoulder the hurt and weight of everyone around you, allowing them to stand, as if you were a giant in a past life.

And I know you're tired.

But you are also beautiful. And kind. And brilliant. And unbelievably golden. You are a sister to my soul, a light, and a big ol' purple flower in the desert. To know you is to love you. You are magical and your smile wakes up the sun.

When someone is lost in the wilderness, you are the moss on the northern side of the trees. You are the very embodiment of empathy and spirit. You have the oldest of souls and the wisest of wisdoms, and your love feels like a California breeze. You are colorful and weird, and funny and genius. You are Alanis Morisette and Cascada and Bo Burnham all rolled into one. You are the Yang to my Grey, even though neither of us can finish the series. You are the Willow to my Buffy, or the Buffy to my Willow because I honestly don't know which we'd be. You are the Rachel to my Monica.

Most importantly, you put the 'best' in 'best friend.'

I'm rambling, I know, but you are a beautiful person. And you need to know that. The best people hurt the most and you know that because your heart is pure. If I could single-handedly convince you of the power of your existence, if I could single-handedly confirm your purpose for you, I would. And I wish I could.

I'd take a bullet for you. Well, maybe not a real bullet because that's dangerous, but a nerf bullet for sure.

So, to my little locust/butterfly, the next time we get ice cream and sit in a parking lot for two hours, don't do all of the fixing. Let me shoulder you for a little bit. Rest.

And remember how lucky the universe is that you are in it -- because it is so, so, so lucky to have you.