So basically, I have been putting this one off. Because I’m not really sure how to describe her. I’m not sure what words fit right. But I’ll do my best. 

I have this friend, Chelsea. I could link you to her blog, but she doesn’t get on it, she just likes things from it. I guess. I don’t know why. So moving on. 

No one understands me (minus her) when I say this, but we’re sort of the same person, yet we’re complete opposites. We have the same exact thoughts but on two completely different sides of the spectrum. One of us will say something, just a random thought, and despite the fact that we realized how similar we are ages ago, we’ll just stare at one another. Like you think that, too? It’s just this really strange, really personal connection. We go throughout the day, leading completely different lives, but we just know each other and feel about things in the same way. Any debate in English class, and we’re on the same thing. We can even come up with the same points from thin air. I don’t know how it works. I don’t know how we can be so similar yet so different. I don’t see how she can be in love with 3OH!3 (or, as her newest obsession, the song Shots), and I sit here listening to Taylor Swift songs, but I could type a huge paragraph with solely my opinions on a situation, and she’ll feel the exact same way. Down to the semi-colon. It blows my mind. 

I honestly don’t know what it is about Chelsea. I just don’t know. I’ve never had a friend I’ve felt this way around. One thing about me is that I feel bad when I lay my head on someone’s shoulder or sit in their lap. I don’t know if it’s because I feel they don’t want me there, or what. So then it picks up that I don’t really like when people do it to me. But I can with her. And she can with me. And it’s normal, it’s fine. I feel no breath-catching-in-my-chest. I don’t have to ask myself if it’s okay because I know it is already. I’m so comfortable with her.

She’s seen every side of me that there is, I’m sure. She’s seen my vulnerability, but she’s also seen me at my most confident. She’s seen me at my very best, and she’s seen me with red, bloodshot eyes, just unsure of everything. She doesn’t need words to console me, then, either. Her presence is enough at times. Just her seeing me, I know I’m okay. I know I’ll be fine. Because she exists, and she’s there for me. She’s there. That’s more than enough. So much more. 

I’m not sure if she’d admit it, but Mr. Rowan was right. And I’ll never forget what he said about her. She’s motherly. She takes care of people. She’s beautiful and goodness. She’s beyond smart. 

And I know that she doesn’t really let people see her sides - not all of them. She doesn’t let people see her hurting. So when she shows me that side, I know that I’m so lucky to know her at that point. I’m so lucky that she’ll let me hug her and comfort her, and write things like this about her. And I know I say I could write so long about people in these, but I literally wrote her like a ten page letter about how much I love her and our friendship. There’s nothing in the world you could give me that would make me trade that in. From her saving my butt playing Left 4 Dead (really, it’s not my fault the fucking zombies always come after me) to giving each other stupid pet names or rewriting songs that, in the end, really don’t make much sense. I love her with every breath I breathe, I swear. Her problems are mine because I’d take them from her in an instant. Any fights we’ve ever had (I don’t know, I can’t really think of any legitimate ones), I’d take back. Any anything, really. Anything bad. I’d just let her relive all the happy moments in her life. 

I’d let us remeet those people dressed up as Harry Potter from last years RenFest, or the whole candelabra joke, the perfect smore, the foam sword she got me for my birthday one year, Iggy Total the rabbit, her Canadian obsession phase. All of it. Just for her to be happy. Because I don’t know anyone who deserves that more than her. I love Chelsea. So much.