And when you called, I refused to believe that you had grown up.
But then I visited your city, and I couldn't leave without meeting you, without giving our friendship yet another chance.
And so we met. And I was floored. At how much you had grown up.
You were the nicest version of the boy I had known.
I even missed, a little, my stupid blundering but oh-so-endearing friend. But I was so proud.
Even though I wondered if you needed me any more. You seemed so sure, so complete.
But it was so pleasant being with you. So comfortable. The kind of comfort you only get with old friends who know you too well to be shocked at anything you might say or do.
And then, last night, I called you. And you talked to me.
And it felt like the years fell away. Four years, maybe six. And after so long, I found my friend again.
A friend who still does stupid things. Who makes things worse when he's trying to help.
Just like I used to. He relates to that part of me, the part that's stupid, and a little insane. The part that loves unconditionally, wildly. The part that makes mistakes, over and over again. And seeks forgiveness each time.
I may turn around tomorrow and get furious at something you said. And vow to not let you in my life again.
But I know I will. I may shut the door, but soon I'll open it again and call to you.
Because you were there when no one else was. You cared when no one else did. And even when I was in darkness, and I couldn't call to you, knowing that you existed lit a little lamp inside of me.
And I'm so glad I have found you again.