You were my person.

We were stupid teenagers together and how we worked as friends I’ll never know.

You were the genius, I was a struggle.

You built me up when I thought I couldn’t do anything.

You pushed me to my limits, academically and personally.

You were my closest friend and confidant.

Weeks, months, and years went by.

A happy birthday here and there.

A small convo in the gaps of time.

Yet I woke up this morning, after four year of silence, with the strongest urge to talk to you.

I wanted to tell you all my hurts and failures, but also my strides and successes.

Why today? I don’t have an answer.

So I picked up the phone. I wanted to hear all about the life you have been living and how none of the things we wanted when we were young panned out, but instead we have bigger and better (more realistic) dreams for ourselves.

You’re married now!

I’m not (even close).

You’re in Colorado.

I’m still kickin’ it in the South.

You’ve got a big fancy job.

I get to work with kids I love everyday.

Our lives are so different, but at the same time it’s as though nothing has changed.

I can still picture you playing that annoying flute in the hallway, me begging you to stop and you promptly ignoring me.

You sat with me on the front pew of my church during the hardest time of my teenage years. You asked for help when I almost took it too far and you probably saved my life.

We had our fights, like all teenage girls, but when it came down to it, you always had my back and I had yours.

You were the hardest person to say goodbye to when I drove toward Georgia.

You have always been and will always be someone I call my friend. The best friend.