You’re 25. Damn, we’re getting old. But at least we’re getting old together.
How many days have we spent together, analyzing art and pop culture? How many nights spent knocking back beers and talking about our deepest fears? You’re still my favorite drinking buddy after all these years. And you’re still the one I run to with music recommendations, comic book stuff, and basically all my dumb feelings about existentialism.
Through our 8-year friendship, I have greeted you without fail with a cheesy-ass birthday message. Every February 12th, I greet you with a long piece of prose singing your praises. I’m sorry, but you deserve it – you deserve to hear that you, my best friend in the entire world, are a wonderful person. Someone who deserves all the good things in the world.
I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you as a best friend – you who listen to my crap and make sure that I’m taking care of myself. And even if this life can be shitty as all hell, we’ll get through it together, and I’m still so happy the universe decided you should be born.
You are my confidante, my signal fire, my cunt, my Angel/o.
I love you, forever and always,