To Winnie (crosspost from Tumblr)

 

Originally written April 10, 2024.

Winnie, I owe you a post, but what you mean to me often transcends words. They fail me, which frustrates me because they are all we have. Your novel is brilliant. I remember when it was merely a thought. Pieces of the synopsis conjure memories of a younger, more naïve version of me. It’s come so far…! I’m very proud of you. You have returned love at ten times its original value and I’ve always admired how you get back up despite everything. We’re alike in that way. It’s funny that we were merely two ships in the night all those years ago. When our paths diverged, your face was among hazy freshmen crowds in my 2020 dreams. It’s hard to believe our friendship ever had an intermission like that. The string that connects us is older than some sidewalks in New York. Maybe I couldn’t sense it under the concrete and tar. When you came back into my life two years later, I was surprised you could remember me because I was unremarkable back then. I was plain, I hadn’t left my house in three months, and I was doomed. Honestly doomed. I wrote about things that used to feel like stellar masses on my mind. Now I think they’re frivolous. But maybe we were all 18 and writing about things that became very small over time. I was honored to have made any impression on you. My hair was short. Yours was even shorter. I had only recently emerged from my chrysalis an interesting specimen. You were born cool.

I am esteemed to be a confidant to you. I do feel like a trusted sous-chef or lieutenant to you, and I’m always happy to share your joys or strategize or mourn or eat something yummy or watch a movie. I think we have a funny visual dynamic, from the way you tower over to me to our stylistic juxtaposition, I am proud when I walk next to you. One Christmas you cut your bangs and I waited until I was way out of frame and in my hometown to haphazardly chop bangs in your shadow. We have miraculous clogs from a thrift store in Virginia, because we prayed for them together in the hour-long train journey. We experience small instances of happiness because we pray for each other. You’re one of 3 reasons I’d ever come back to New York, even though it smells like somebody else’s house nowadays.
I’m sorry I didn’t open up more before. You’ve given me so much of your life. When we called last week you saw my open, pulsating wounds. You probably, unknowingly heard my heart beat its loudest in warm alleyways last spring. You’ve seen me experience pure bliss and happiness, because a lot of those bright moments happen with you. I want to share every beautiful thing in my life with you, and I wish I could take half of your pain and bear it together. I can’t wait to be wiser in 2030 or even a day from now.

Everything is so big because we’re young, but I have a feeling we’ll always exist as we are in the amber of my mind.