An open letter

Don't call me friend. 

Because I don't think you know what that means. You see, the terrifying thing about friendship is that it's a two sided street:

It doesn't take place in a sterile operation room

where I can bare my heart and let you fix me up with a surgeon's hand, all neat and tidy and cold.

You don't get to tell me words of comfort under a face-mask, while you're all cloaked in scrubs and wearing gloves. I will not yield myself to a scalpel in a stranger's grasp. Because friendship is far more messy, and far less effective than this.

Friendship means reaching into each-others chests and grasping at the seams, twisting and tearing and mixing s**t up. Bleeding together like brothers in arms, and failing to make the pain go away. Time and time again, failing together, because that makes all the difference.

And of course we would fail if we tried. I am, even now, on the verge of collapse. But when I finally break I will shock the world into silence to watch me shatter in a way that only I can. People will stand in awe for years to come at the wonderful mess I left behind. That is who I am, and you have no place beside me.