An ode to friendship
Becoming someone braver and bolder in the embrace of all my friends
Yesterday I had a conversation with a new-ish friend, who told me they are in love right now, the kind of love that makes you ache—ache because you love them so freaking much.
I’m currently—and very slowly—writing an essay about a windowsill and love and desire and courage, and I will publish this soon. But I wanted to share a teaser of sorts, directly from the ache I feel today.
What makes me brave and bold is my friends. My friends who love and protect me and gift me the opportunity to love and protect them. Who create small worlds with me, in which we get to practice attunement and presence and curiosity and delight in each other. Worlds where our energies and particularities dance and collide and help us to unfold who we are and become who want to be. Where we can explode in ugly, beautiful ways to expose the hurt we carry and the betrayal we bury.
To all my friends, I love you. So much it hurts. The ones I text my most dangerous and disallowed thoughts. The ones who help me pause when I misdirect the violence of the system onto myself or others. The ones who hold containers for me to rattle and rage, or send me a circuit breaker text to leave the goddamn house and come to the club.
Friendship is a site of significant pain and beauty and love and to ignore its importance is to do yourself and your friends a huge disservice. Each friendship is an alive thing, that you choose to tend to together, and like all things that are alive, they require nourishment, care, and attention, to bloom.
To all my friends, thank you. The ones I see every week. The ones I see once a year. It is my favourite thing to get to witness you and for you to witness me, in our continual becoming. Thank you for dancing. For daring. For world building with me.
What I listened to while writing this:
Beautiful xx