I’m one lucky fucker to have the people that I do. Not much else seems to be going my way these days, but good lord almighty, do I have some incredible people.
Two best friends, more than a hundred miles apart. One with me all the time, one always too far away. Another pair of friends with whom I can lie on my floor for hours and bitch to about anything, and receive glorious support from both. A kickass role model who watched me grow up and can still remind me what I’ve built my life on. A shadow of my past who still drives me to be better even though we don’t really speak anymore.
Life is in shambles, but to say it’s all bad would be a kick in the teeth to my entire tribe. Plenty of people can pick up a ringing phone at 1 in the morning, but only an angel will stay on the line half the night to tell you god’s honest truth instead of a quick, half-assed answer to get you to hang up and go to bed. Only a soulmate would get off work at 5 a.m. and immediately go to buy you breakup booze, only to quickly find out that she has to wait until 7 to check out with it. Very few people will drive half the day just to surprise you and spend a couple of hours by your side. Only a godsend would somehow know to do it on a day you woke up crying.
My people love me. Coming to terms with this is a battle all its own because I’ll never be convinced that I’m worthy. I’m darkness and they’re light, and it’s not always an easy blend. Each has cast a shadow on me so unique that each one may as well be tattooed onto my skin. Each has left a mark so deep that I’m surely not just me anymore, but a little bit of them, too.
I was given some of the most incredible souls in the universe, and I’m eternally grateful and indebted.