an ode to best friends and platonic love.

This piece has been a long time coming. I’ve tried to write it so many times. So many different ways. I’ve tried the “I’m in love with my best friend but not in a Nicholas Sparks kinda way” approach. Or another approach, which I realised after reading sounded like I was actually on the verge of lesbianism.
But being in love with your best friends is so much more than being in love romantically. There is no other person who’s happiness is equal to mine. I mean, if the boy I romantically like is sourcing happiness from someone other than me, there is no way that I’m happy about that.
But platonic love, it’s just so much more. When they’re happy or in love, or when they’re sad or angry, you don’t just empathise. You feel it too. When my best friend got an internship for Paris, I wasn’t just happy for her. I felt an excitement that rivalled excitement I had felt for my own self. I was as thrilled as she was. And I was staying behind.
I haven’t said everything I’ve wanted to say and I don’t think I ever will. It’s just something that you feel in those moments and it just makes you happy to be alive and to be alive with other people. I guess it’s one of those things that is hard to put into words. Love defies definition. It’s one of those things you know when you’ve felt it. Loving someone so much, but not romantically. Just really really enjoying them as a person. My closest friends are the best things about my life. And not just to share time and existence with them but to share actual feelings, well, it’s something that’s pretty swell.

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