Dear Best Friend, I don't know how to start this. I think the fact that I'm publishing sappiness on a public forum probably speaks for how strongly I feel about this.
Dear Best Friend , you know who you are. I am much better at writing than I am at speaking. Luckily, I would rewrite the fabric of the universe just to see you smile, so it isn't as if I lack for words. I just wish I had the air in my lungs to tell you how much you mean to me. You'll have to settle for words on a screen.
Dear Best Friend , in my eyes, you are perfect. This is not to say that you have no flaws, that's just stupid. This is to say that I know of your flaws, that I recognize that there might be some I don't know of yet, and I love you all the same.
I think you are the sweetest person I have ever seen. There is almost nothing that makes me happier than seeing you roll your eyes at a stupid joke, or my screen light up with one of your selfies. That last one makes me stare, because, wow! You're a person, and you're a person that I have the privilege of knowing. How did I ever get this lucky?
(There are far more pictures of you in my 'Me,Family and Friends' folder than I let on. I guess the secret's out now. They all have incredibly sappy file names.)
Sometimes I look at you when doubt starts hitting me. A part of my brain starts nagging me, telling me that there is no way I deserve this beautiful person in my life. And then I see your eyes light up with this pure, unfiltered love for me and there is nothing more that needs to be said. You could if you wanted, as I'd gladly listen to you talk about anything for hours, but I need no proof of how much you care for me. It is written on your face. I have never been so glad to be an open book as I am when my face is interpreted in return. Sometimes you tell me that I have a beautiful smile. Part of that comes from the joy of looking at you.
Dear Best Friend, sometimes I miss you so much that it feels as if it's going to split me open. You are right there, and you are always there for me, but I can't hold your hand. I can't hold you when you cry and tell you it will be okay, I can only offer soundwaves that offer little bits of reassurance. And I hate all of the 600.3 miles that separate me from you. I am almost willing to set aside a little bit of bitterness for every person who lives on the way from my place to yours. It is not their fault that I am not with you, but maybe I would find some sympathy along the way if I vented to every person I met. I expect I'd find that, more than a few punches in the face, and maybe some gas money, if I'm lucky.
Dear Best Friend, you are an angel. And your wings are made of corners of every drawing you have made me, and your halo is the same glow that lights up my face every time I think about you. Even if you were the weird sort of angel, the kind that is just fiery balls careening through the sky, I would burn my hands for the opportunity to touch you anyway.
Dear Best Friend, I love you so much that it hurts sometimes. You're used to hearing that sentence with a laugh at the end of it. The laugh is because the hurt is a good thing. I had almost forgotten what it was like to love someone so much that it hurts to breathe sometimes. You clog up my lungs, and sometimes I feel overwhelmed. It's the kind of overwhelmed that I really don't mind.
Dear Best Friend, I cannot hope to put into words everything I feel about you. I hope I sort of hit the nail on the head. If this makes you feel anything close to what I felt while writing it, then I've done my job.
I love you.
