A ramble about friendship and loss.

Few things are as soothing to the soul as talking with your best friend, especially when you are an emotional clam like me. On the outside I am hard and strong, desperately clamped shut so that my delicate interior is safe. I’ve never been able to share my self with others. I can feign friendliness all day, many people think I’m an extrovert because I am a friend to many people. What they don’t see, is that I’ve not allowed any of those people to be a friend to me.

I know it’s not healthy. I should be able to open up to others, accept help, support and love. I. Just. Can’t. Is it fear? Lack of trust? It just never came naturally to me. Sure, I’ve had people call me their best friend, and to them I was. But I always did the listening, and I shared just enough to make them feel close to me too. I enjoy being there for people, helping them grow and develop into their best selves.

It wasn’t until I placed myself halfway across the world from home that I found someone who made me feel as comfortable as I seem to make others feel. Unfortunately, due to visa issues she was ripped away from me prematurely. We’re both rubbish and communicating long distance so we do a terrible job communicating with each other, oh but when we do, the world changes. All the stress melts away as she detangles the knots in my heart. We take equal turns fixing each other, there is no judgment. Only acceptance, understanding, and love.

When I first met her, I hardly even spoke with her. I was transferred to a different location and didn’t expect to ever see her again. After a few months she got transferred to the same place. We became neighbors. At first I spent time with her in the way I usually do with people, to help them. However, somehow we started to open up to each other, one stitch at a time. After a while we confided with each other that we both held the same fatal defect. The burning desire to be known, but the inability to share our true selves with others.

At first it was terrifying. Each time I would share something new with her my heart would race, I’d stammer over my words, which is an odd feeling for someone known for being extremely articulate. She, in turn, would also open up with the same level of reluctance. It became easer and easer and now I feel I can tell her anything. She is my best friend. And then she left. I miss her all the time.

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