I have been given this title and it hurts sometimes, and this helps.
You do the sleepovers. You meet the families, the best friends. You get invited to the weddings, the Christmas dinners, road trips to the Cape to visit the siblings. You’ve been in their house. You know the way they take their coffee, all their favorite films, the times they’ve eaten in a day, and how they articulate their words. And you’ve never had to ask. You know their finest strengths and lowest weaknesses, where they stash their cash, what’s in their will, and the time they were born.
They tell you everything. Who they’ve hurt and who’s hurt them. What they see when they look in the mirror. How many kids they’d like to have and what they’d name them. The things that make them tick and how they are in bed. Their passions. You talk about the past and the future, the wills and will nots. Dreams…
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