Sunday, April 22, 2007
♥ Sunday, April 22, 2007
Countless people think that it's okay not to have a best friend. Others think that having to recognise your best friend is silly, it's stupid, it's juvenile.
But it's not.
My best friend has seen me through the darkest period of my life. She stood with me when the storms uprooted the trees of rationality, she lived through the teenage angst that grew in place, and then she uprooted the weeds again and planted back trees of wisdom. She gave me seeds to sow, she fixed everything there was to fix, and she fixed me as much as ever brand new.
My best friend renewed the courage in me that I lost during the rain, somehow, as the trees started to loom all around me and I felt too tired to carry on with this battle against Mother Courage. She gave me a drink, a burger, and she led me on my first mile until she felt that I was strong enough to carry on alone, and then she let me go my own way.
My best friend found that bit of goodness in my soul and she tore it apart and put it back again. She hurt me once, but she put it back for me so that I would know. She gave me a listening ear, a hug, and an apology, and she was always there for me when I needed her positivity and love. She made me laugh, she made me cry, she made me feel like a best friend, she
made me love her.
And I do.
She gave me so many things, and yet I did nothing in return. I didn't return her the fruits I reaped, I didn't fix the things in her life, and I never gave her back my wisdom. I never made her a different person.
I never gave her courage to do things, I never gave her a soda and neither a spring roll, and I never led her on her first mile.
She had always done it her way, her own special way, and somehow, things just worked out. She never complained and she never gave up, on herself and on me. She always told me that I could do it, she always gave me that burst of energy unknowingly, from her love and her care and the support she gives me.
But yet I can only do one thing for her. I can only find that goodness in her soul and tear it apart and put it back again. I can hurt her, and I can apologise to let her know that I love her no matter what. I can give her two listening ears, a thousand hugs, and a million apologies. I can always be there for her when she needs me. I can make her laugh, cry and make her feel like a best friend.
I can tell her that I love her.
And that is the reason why I tell her that every single day, as my eyelids start to droop and the exhaustion starts to sink in and I lie down on the bed waiting for yet another day; as I bury myself in the pile of homework and start doing them like a bull; as I wait for her to finish her work though I suck at that; as I try to stay awake until she falls asleep; as I listen to her talk and hang up before she falls asleep. I tell her that I love her.
I say those three words with every word meaning as true as ever every day, I say goodnight with the thought of knowing that we'd see each other again the next day, I call her my best friend because I mean it, and best friends understand. Best friends understand when you break down after a while and malfunction for a few days. Best friends support you when you feel lower than the floor. Best friends hug you with all their might for as long as they can, and they whisper in your ear and tell you that they will always be there.
And they will.
For so many unspeakable reasons I love my best friend for being her, I love my best friend for loving me, I love my best friend for making me laugh, and cry, and not minding when I go all wacky and lame, I love my best friend for no reason at all, because I don't need a reason to love my best friend.
Because I love her, and that's the only reason I find acceptable for loving her.
