Everyone has a classification. Male parent, Father. Female parent, Mother. And from there it continues. Brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles, nephews, nieces, friends, enemies, lovers, strangers… Everyone has a neat little box that they fit in, and somewhat conform to.
And then there’s her.
She’s the exception to the rule. She takes my classification and laughs at it, jumping from box to box fast enough to make even a kangaroo stop and go “What the hell was that?” She’s my best friend, the girl I’m in love with, sometimes she’s almost like my little sister, and sometimes she mothers me. Sometimes I can’t stand the thought of her. Other times, I pine for the sound of her voice, rain on wilted grass.
Sarcasm is what started it all. Or more like my lack of understanding of sarcasm. Something she said that I didn’t pick up on, and thus it began. Before I knew it, we were pouring our hearts out to each other, complaining and consoling and laughing and encouraging… Sometimes I was afraid she’d move to a different world, but she never did it. And whenever I heard back from her, I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Other times, I thought all I could see was black, but then her light shone in and brought me back to some level of sanity. Even when I thought everything was lost.
What do I call this person, this woman who walked into my life and proceeded to break all my rules? This crazy lady who keeps me on my toes? This angel who saved me? She’s not my friend, she’s much more. She’s not my lover. She’s neither sister nor mother… I have no label for her. I have no box that can contain her personality. And I’d prefer not to. She just… is. And that is the way it will always be, I think. And despite all I say… I like it that way. We’ll stay this way. We remain, en vife et en mort.
