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This past month I’ve had to pleasure to celebrate the birthdays of a few people who mean a lot to me, so this post is for you.

The women I have in my life, the ones who I get to call my best friends, are truly one in a million.

I have a hard time explaining the love I have for them because for someone to understand the connection we have they need to first understand me. I am a walking contradiction in many ways; always late, forever annoyed at other people’s carelessness, a grammar snob who refuses to edit the posts she puts up on her own blog, the blog that she hopes people read, but never talks about in public. I’m also ruthlessly flaky. I have a long history of poor and erratic decision making. I am hard to connect with. I struggle with empathy, I have a hard time taking myself seriously and other people too, even when the consequences are no joke.

I’m seemingly unlovable on many levels, something I’ve been told by romantic and platonic friendships past.

And so, everyday I am amazed that I was fortunate enough to find these rare people in this vast world and that they choose, still after all this time, to stick by my side. These are the people who show up when I’m in crisis with coffee. People who saved my life when I didn’t want it. People who tell me when I’m being a piece of shit and then forgive me anyway. People who trust me enough to leave me alone with their children. People who when we go months without speaking and it never changes a thing between us.

There aren’t enough words and even if there were I’m not a gifted enough writer to make them beautiful enough to express how much you all mean to me.

So I’ll just say this: I love you. Thank you.

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