I am trying desperately not to cry because I am at work. I’ve thought long and hard over what to do for you today, what miraculous words that I had prayed would come flowing from my fingers, but no such glorious inspiration as I envisioned comes to me. But I’m not going to just leave it at that, and say “simply” put, you are amazing: because you know I feel that way. Instead I’m going to try to describe something to you that I’ve never even tried to put down in words before. So bare with me.

When I moved away from you in sixth grade, a part of me died, and it has never come back. It was as if you were more than just a friend- but another part of me, that I could look at and see, another half. You knew everything about me. My fears, my hopes and dreams, and my darkest secrets. I have countless memories and I wonder who did what, or whose thought was whose, I just remember that for a time in my life despite the fact that my world was crumbling around me and everything I knew and understood was wrong- I was happy. When my dad threatened he would come take me in the middle of the night to go to California, my mom cried herself to sleep several nights on end, and for the first time in my life there was snow and it was unbearably cold, I was happy. I remember when we worried that there was a tornado warning for the first time in our town, I curled up in your hallway closet, and created radio tapes where we interviewed each other. When Amy Haggard threatened you (or me?), I (was it you?) pushed her down the snow hill. For the briefest of moments, I genuinely cannot tell our actions apart, but then the actual memory comes flooding in- the sensations of fear and tears in the principal’s office for the third time that year for violence. I can feel the grass between my toes in your yard. I can still feel that warm breeze.

I have never opened up to anyone like that since you “left” my life. Not a friend. Not a boyfriend. I am trying, really, really trying, but I haven’t gotten there yet. I realized, at such a young, impressionable age- that people can leave you, and hurt you, and leave you feeling completely empty, even when neither of you want to leave, and I never wanted that to happen again. And you were still alive! I hadn’t even reached the age where I realized Death did the same tearing, ripping, and hording of your soul. You weren’t just a friend I had when I was young, I can name several of those, but you were my life, breath, and inspiration. I wanted to be you in every way, with you every step, with you every fall.

And then it was gone. And it was hard to keep it going. We found new friends, new faces, and new games to play and people to love and touch. But I want you (or is it me?) to understand that I never healed. It wasn’t our fault, we were too young, our mothers did the best they could- but you (I) need to know I never recovered from that loss. And a loss it was. How can anyone understand such a bond between two people even exists at such an age? I blame no one, but I (you) know that I (or you?) never healed.

But I’ve been sitting on this all day and if I sit on it any longer you’ll miss it. I am glad now that we are older and both sad and broken we can attempt to slowly get back to that point we had when we were young. It feels so good to be your friend, even if it is at a distance. Thank you for being you. Thank you for being my soul sister, in every sense of the word, and thank you for loving me unconditionally, completely, and honestly.

Happy birthday.