I have a magnet on my fridge from a dear friend. I think the artist is “Leigh,” and though I cannot know whether it was she who first said it, or just copied it in her mixed-media style, the meaning of the words ring true regardless of their origin. The quote says that, “We all let people into our lives, but you will find that really good friends let you into your own.”
Some time ago I wrote this poem for a friend, more than a friend I guess … a kindred spirit might be more appropriate. But I think now it is an amalgam, or blend of how I feel about all of my closest, deepest friendships. So … this is for you, because how could I ever be me without you? I love you and treasure you all … and if you think this might be for you, then I guarantee it is!
Much love, enjoy.
It is strange, the realization that language can be so restricting… that there are hardly words to describe, or to thank one as one aught. Phrases and definitions are plenty, but cheapen the feelings they mean to impart. So that “friend” doesnʼt seem strong enough a word, and “loved one,” is too clichè (though indeed you are both). And so it seems you go on without title – in essence, a good thing as it would only limit who and what you are, or may in time become.
Let it be said instead, that you are a confidante, a memory-keeper, a positive light on an unknown, unseen, or ignored darkness. You are an echo, a laugh, and an imprint on the good that I hold within me. In word, in deed and in theory – spoken and too left unsaid, you keep me loving the part of myself that you see. And so I thank you. I have tried, (knowingly, not succeeding) but hopefully lightly instilling – a sense of the gift that you are … to me.
It is precious, but not simple, lasting always, wrapped with smiles. Find comfort as freely as you give it dear one – and please,
continue to be you, for me.