"Al, I think you should meet this girl named Kali. I think you would really like her."
"Ugh, no, Zach. I know who that is and I already don't like her."
"Stupid little girl," probably muttered under his breath as he walked away.
Big brothers always (sometimes) know best, huh?
Always in the #nonewfriends camp (yes, Avery, if you're reading this, you are indeed noticing the trend), I think the feeling is mutual that we didn't want to go beyond knowing of each other.
It's a good thing a bleeding heart, wide open from the deepest of breaks, knows what it needs more than the ego and conscious mind of a fifteen-year-old.
Thank you for coming to the memorial. Thank you for coming up to the girl who didn't want to know you, for seeing beyond the defenses and for opening your arms wide for the first hug that would create a life change in two young girls who had no idea the other one needed her just as much as she needed her, too.
You've been a pivotal column in my life since that terrible day, walking through more terrible days right alongside me and dancing through the moments filled with sunshine and laughs like only you can dance. Our friendship is one of my favorites, and one that paves the roads I walk with understanding, strength, and hope for more future days of sunshine and laughs. Without you, I'm sure those roads would be filled with more potholes and grey skies than I care to imagine.
Thank you for handling my infertility in the most peaceful, respectful, and encouraging way. Thank you for always thinking of me, when you should have been thinking of yourself first. Thank you for putting your joy to the side to swim in my grief with me - do you know what a special person it takes to do that? Do you know how special of a person it is who does that time and time again? Your faith and your childlike joy and your sass and your stubbornness and your honesty are my most favorite things.
I wouldn't want to spend my nights at a cemetary with anyone other than you.
Thank you and I love you.