Dear Friend,
I don’t know how you did (do) it, I really don’t. When I think back to when I met you for the first time, eight years ago, I can’t remember the day.
But you do, and in annoyingly high detail.
And did I know then, that the bespectacled, yellow little girl would come and make my life a hell of a lot better. No. But I am really glad I sat next to you when I did. (Which I don’t remember, by the way)
Because you are my rock.
I cried, lied, sang, sketched, etched, doodled, wrote, danced and laughed all over your life and you let me. I sincerely hope I never find out how you deal with my shit. Because I gave you a LOT of shit, so much so that I think you have become immune to it.
And somewhere in the middle of you I swimming in a flaming bag of poop, I realized that I wouldn’t have been able to get through this nasty, disgusting placed without you.
Isn’t this visual really, really romantic?
And yeah, I know we don’t talk everyday like we used to, but I approach each situation of my life imagining your reaction, having mental conversations with you.
I know, that is just a little scary, but it is how it is boss. I will do anything for you. No I won’t, I don’t know why I said that.
But I will consider doing anything for you.
Because you know, when things turn for the worse, I’ll be waiting, arms outstretched, with a smile on my face and toilet paper in my bag, fully equipped to deal with any kind of shit your life had the audacity to possibly fling at you.
Happy Birthday Bracey, I love you the most.
Love,
Dora. (The Exploraa, fml.)
bottlesandbaubles 