Excuse any grammatical disparities and sap, I just had a rather full glass of wine, which is no doubt fueling this ridiculousness.
I talk about Hanna a lot on here. I have known him for almost six years of my life. But as much as I talk about him, I don’t say often enough how great he is and how much he means to me.
Hanna: Mom hates it when I say “he.” People think you’re mean. People think you’re weird. You are mean, and you are weird, but you are also the sweetest, most sensitive, most caring person in the world.
On Valentines Day, you surprised me with a chocolate rose when I didn’t get you a thing, and you did it because you love me. You scrounged together all the games I thought I’d lost, I’m sure with great difficulty and cost, because you are my friend. You always tell me when I’m being stupid, but you never, ever mock my dreams. You support me with everything in you. I remember when you called me to tell me how excited you were that I was coming to New York. And when you cried when I left California, because you were scared to lose me. I remember staying up till two in the morning when I had marching practice the next day and not caring. I remember the letter you wrote for me that made people cry.
I remember lots of bad things, too. Booooy do I remember. But in the sum, it doesn’t matter. Because even though you’ve NEVER liked my romantic entanglements, you support me trying to have a love life. Even when it keeps you up when you’re sick, you fix everything I screw up with everyone else. Frequently. The same way I’ve stayed up for you.
People don’t get our friendship. They think it’s weird: that we met on the internet; that your biology conflicts with your soul; that a thousand miles away and six years later, we are still best friends. Either that, or they think we’re in some kind of romantic thing. Eh, I guess if you were a guy and also straight in a VERY different world, that would be fine, but people worry too much about labels.
What does what we are matter? What matters is that we have always known, since we met, that we were meant to be – it is a love all its own that goes far un-celebrated. The love of a friend, to a friend. The Beloved, as Romi put it.
Sometimes you dislike me to the point of hatred, and the feeling is mutual. But we have a love that is far stronger than that, than envy, than annoyance. You have been my best friend for six years, and how could I live another six without you? What would I do without you to force me to laugh at myself? To make me grown? I could not grow without you.
I would cry if I kept going, but know that no matter how weird people think you are, how angry or cold, how judgmental – I will always see you in my heart, and hold you close there, knowing all of that but also your gentleness and love and generosity. And in that way, no one can ever take you from me.
Annnnnnnd I obviously should never drink again.