You’re going to need a person in your life who makes you smile even when you’re mad. Who knows your heart like the back of her hand and calls you out on your bullshit. Who says, “screw him,” and “I love you,” and, “you got this,” and really means it. Late nights of long phone calls and laughing until your ribs hurt. You need a person who sees you for what you can be, what you will be, and never lets you be any less. A weirdo, preferably. Who yells your name across street just to embarrass you. Who holds you when he breaks your heart and keeps you strong when he comes crawling back. Who tells the truth when she talks about life and makes you feel a little less alone. A person who is beyond words, beyond thanks, beyond what you could have asked for. Find this person. Trust me. You’re going to need her.
a thank you to my best friend, who is all of this and more
“I’m not sure,” she whispered, looking down to the ground, “I’m not even sure if I do miss him. I miss the memories, and I miss talking to him and the way he made me feel. But I still don’t know if miss him, you know?”
I have these Native American reenactments in the summer, okay. We dress in authentic Native garb and go teach about our culture and whatnot at historical events. There’s this one on a weekend that housed all reenactors from Ancient Greece to World War II–you can walk through a timeline of living history. It’s cool.
So there are these guys in a tent on the far hill called the Scottish Highlanders. They bring about two to five people to their thing per year. They do all the good medieval Scottish jazz. Kilts, weapons, challenging you to fights.
But theres this one guy that is there every time. I always go visit to hear him give in depth talks about Scottish Reavers and their malitia and weaponry and stuff. He’s fun, so I go talk to him and he’s asking about what school I’m going to, what I want to do, etc.
So I tell him I want to be a history teacher and I like to write. He asks me if I have anything published, and I say no, thinking he means an actual book. But he waves me off and asks, “No, online. Have you ever heard of Fanfiction.net?”
Let me explain a thing. This guy. Is well over six feet. His biceps are bigger than my head, he’s about 45 years old, he has the thickest Scottish accent you’ve ever witnessed, he can wave two axes around like nobody’s business, he usually resolves friendly arguments with full on battle in armor with real weaponry with the scars to prove it, and he kind of has a biker gang.
And this guy starts telling me about the 700 page Doctor Who fanfiction that he’s been writing for six years and still running.
Shamelessly continues to explain how he gets together with his badass biker buddies and they ride to his house with bottles of Jack Daniels and talk about the next fanfiction that they’re going to write together. (More Doctor Who, Xena Warrior Princess, Agents of Shield, Lord of the Rings…) They dare each other to write crossovers for interesting character interaction. This guy raves with excitement over character development and analysis.
Get me a book as a gift. Your favorite book. Highlight the lines that makes you feel something. Make note on the passages that make you laugh. Mark down the things that make you cry. I want to see exactly the kind of person you are, let me read what makes you, you.
Maybe all she needed was for you to hold her. Maybe that’s all it would have taken for her to feel safe. Instead you used her, you confused her. You are the reason she will never trust again. Because just as she thought you’d hold her, you threw her to the ground…
The hardest thing is to accept that someone you care about is treating you badly. Maybe not on purpose, and maybe not all the time, but you have a self worth and a value and if you pretend that you don’t know what it is, so will everyone else.
I had to let us go. Not only for me but for your sake. I didn’t want to be around, constantly reminding you of what could’ve and what would’ve been.
I know what i have to offer and i know that i just might have been the best thing that you ever got to call ‘yours’. But you just weren’t ready.
So i had to let us go.
a part of me
still holds onto us.
unable to let go,
unable to clear my mind of you.
unable to peel off your name
that’s engraved in my heart
and the heaviness that follows with every letter that falls
all the memories
and all the laughter.
All the love.
Not wanting to cut the cord that
connects me with you
Not wanting to forget
the way you used to look at me
and the butterflies that made it hard to breathe
but helped me learn to fly again.
Not willing to let go of the map that leads to you
cause our paths were meant to intersect
I ran in the opposite direction but
Everything leads back to you,
and the way you kissed me that night.
My first kiss, my first love.
More than anything
wanting you to be my last.
But this time seems like the last,
I need to let you go
because you already did
are not there
are not here
and I need to remind my heart
Tonight I watched a meteor shower with a boy. He was a very nice boy- more than nice, he was charming and funny and kind, and we ran barefoot under the stars to dance to our favourite song at the party, and he lent me his blue velvet jacket and pulled me up onto the wall to sit with him. And we watched the shooting stars, and he held my hand and turned his head, and we kissed. And it was a very nice kiss. And that’s why I hated you right at that moment.
Because I know, that every time I ever do something like that; watching silver bursts of light on the midnight blue, or kissing someone with the music playing behind my back, or dipping my legs in the freezing river with my party clothes still on, I will think of you. And I will think of running through the sand dunes and lying with you by the fire on the beach and your guitar and your smell and your brown hands and your hands in my hair and your lips on mine and our favourite songs together, and the ones we wrote together, and the nights we would lie under the same blanket I still use and you would just hold me tight and I would never have bad dreams.
So because of you, the poor boy in the blue velvet smoking jacket can text me and ring me and meet me for coffee, but he will never be you. And I will not love him, and I will think of you every time I look into his eyes, every time I see his blonde hair and not your golden hair, and you will follow me to the ends of the earth.
But as much as I hate you for that, I still love you. And I hate that as well. So I will not send this, but I will write the words to get them out of me, because otherwise I will never be rid of you.
hey i just wanted to say that if you’re already scraping by to make ends meet, the holidays are really hard. and that puts pressure on you and on your whole family. and if there’s one thing i hope you know it’s that you don’t need to prove you love someone by buying them something. i know we all want to get the people we care about really fancy things. but i’m okay if you get me like a smooth rock you found by the ocean. i know it’s true of other people, too. i’d rather you hand me a diy picture frame from popsicle sticks than something you had to go into debt to buy, and i think any person who’s worth their socks will tell you the same thing. and on that note? everybody loves socks, and they’re pretty cheap. yes, it’d be great if you and i stumbled on enough money to actually afford things. but love, i’ve learned, isn’t about the buying.
and on that note? for those of you out there who find the holidays a particularly dark time… i hope you know there will always be someone willing to open the door for you. even when it feels like there’s no one. even if that door is a window you have to crawl through.
and for those of us who have more than we need, i hope we open those doors. if you notice someone who is going to be alone during the holidays, or who is usually depressed but for no apparent reason seems markedly happy and is giving away their things, please invite them over. hang out with them, no matter how awkward it is. sudden cleaning and long notes about how much they love you are also signs of suicide. with recent changes in insurance, it’s increasingly harder to find mental health care, so help a friend out (and maybe even yourself!) by figuring out who still takes the insurance offered so we can all give ourselves the gift of coping mechanisms, the gift that keeps on giving.