Sometimes I feel as though our language is terribly limited when I’m talking about relationships I have with certain people in my life. “Friend,” “Best Friend,” and “Lover” are so specific and restrictive that I can’t possibly be expected to put everyone I care about into one of those categories. There are some people in my life with whom I share a remarkably unique relationship. These people are “friends,” I suppose. But whenever the word leaves my mouth I feel like I’m doing them a disservice. They’re like blood. My constant in an ever changing world. For some reason the only term we seemed to have coined for those who are “more than friends” is some kind of romantic lover, which is not always the case. Usually not. For such highly evolved and intelligent beings, we sure love trying to squeeze everything into a tightly fitting box. But then I guess they exist so we have something to bust through.
Drinking coffee and mentally preparing for the impending zombie apocalypse.