you’re 15, the blurryface album released and a mutual obsession with twenty one pilots becomes the foundation of your friendship. by the end of the month, you’ll have cut out all nuts from your diet because she’s allergic. you haven’t eaten peanut butter since.
you’re 16, growing apart because you now live thousands of miles away and you’re fighting so many demons. she will never resent you for the distance you needed to start to heal. she’ll never give up on you.
you’re 17, rekindling your friendship because you get to move back home. she’s the first person you see when you’re back and it’s like no time had passed at all. you have a picnic of sun butter & honey sandwiches and grapes for old time’s sake.
you’re 18, life taking you in different directions as you enter adulthood. you’re both too busy and poor to see each other much. she’s still your number one, though.
you’re 19, your friendship solidified into that of adults and not high schoolers. her dad dies this year and it will break your heart to watch her lose him. you stay strong when she can’t and you crack dead dad jokes together because it’s a comfortable way to cope. she’s the only not blood relative at your wedding ceremony.
you’re 20, newly married and preparing to move across the country. covid halts the earth on its axis and you get four more months with her than you planned. you both needed those four months. she starts hanging out with an old friend and they never stop- he’s her person. he thinks the sun shines out her ass and you appreciate that. he loves her the way she deserves.
you’re 21, going back to school and trying to find yourself after covid. you get your tubes tied for health reasons. she sends you a picture of a pregnancy test while your eyes are dilated and you have to keep from going insane in the optometrist’s office. different directions, thousands of miles away, but you’re still in it together.
you’re 22, settling into a career while living in a place you hate. her daughter, your niece, is born this year. you become impossibly closer this year despite living near-opposite lives. she’s the only person you can text all day, every day like you’re 15 again. you’re the only one with a sleep schedule that mirrors that of a newborn.
you’re 23, finally able to take a trip to see her. that week is everything. you celebrate your niece’s first birthday with all her friends and family. this year is the first fleeting thought saying ‘we made it’.
you’re 24, both settling into your adult lives. you get to visit for another birthday, almost crying in awe of the way your best friend ‘moms’. she has endless patience and you realize she has never raised her voice in a negative tone. you know she’s exhausted and frustrated — a teething two years old is akin to a demon — and yet she stays neutral. you’ve never been so proud in your life. once again, you hear the whisper of the wind: ‘we made it’.
you’re 25, starting to have some big health struggles and a quarter-life crisis. your life feels too hard and busy and she never tells you to suck it up or get over it. she’s there, just to listen and tell you that you are not crazy. if you are crazy, though, she’ll tell you. you love her all the more for it. she finds out she’s pregnant again this year and you are over the moon. it feels like the only good thing to happen that year. twenty one pilot’s ‘blurryface’ era ends, you both feel like you’re in mourning. something so insignificant to others is the reason you have each other. the end of the era not so quietly says: ‘we made it’.
you’re 26, spending too much time being introspective. you buy a car, start the home buying process, she becomes a mom of two and that’s when you hear the earth shouting: ‘we fucking made it’. you’ll cry a lot. you can’t be with her when she needs help but she doesn’t make you feel bad. she’ll remind you that you have a life, that you have four screws in your hip and that you don’t have time to fly.
you’re 26 when you realize she’s your soulmate of the ancient greek variety. she’s always been the type a to your type b. she’s the calm to your short fuse temper. she’s the mom to your fun aunt. she’s made you a better person, a better friend.
you’re 26 when you say: “i made it; we made it.”
we made it.
