To the Graduating Class,

The latter half of senior year of high school had such a profound effect on me that it would be an injustice not to share some of it, if only to help others climb out of the black holes into which I plummeted. Seniors, I can say with confidence that I know what you're going through. Here are a few things I would be remiss if I didn't impart to you:

- Firstly, people never stop saying how "fun and exciting" senior year is. I never got why, and it's okay if you don't either. Senior year was a dark, trying time, and well-meaning adults can handle it if you're honest with them. It's okay if you hate it. You're not the only one.

- The tumultuous burden of applications is finally over, but the final decision-making period will take almost as much of a toll. Don't let it define you. I spent so much time worrying over whether not I would pick the "right" school, the "right" classes, etc. But the truth is: any school is the right one if you feel at home there. In the end, it comes down to relationships. You can switch majors or meal plans, but you can't change the people you're surrounded with. Focus on choosing a community rather than a set of buildings.

- Your grades right now do not matter as much as you think they do. I know that is blasphemous and hypocritical (especially coming from someone who cared a LOT about that), but it's true. Something that will become very clear in college is that at the end of the day they're just numbers. Your best may not be the Ivy League's standard of "best" and that is okay. You do not have to prove yourself to anyone. If you're deciding between studying for an exam and having one last sleepover with all of your best pals, give yourself a night off and cherish the people that will soon be scattered.

- Please, please, please appreciate the value of living at home while you still can. So-called "freedom" is not all it's cracked up to be, and there will be so many days you will miss the convenience and familiarity that comes with home and family. Savor the luxury of high-quality bathrooms. Thank your washing machine for not being old and clogged with a hundred people's hair. Don't protest that you're "practically" an adult when your parents continue to enforce curfew. Tell them you love them and then help with the dishes. I'm dead serious. That version of "normal" will end, and you will miss it.

- It's okay if you're not going to miss most of the people you go to school with. It's okay to let go of high school. Even if you're all going to the same state school together, get excited for the brand new crop of friends you're going to make. Don't be afraid to select the "random" option for a roommate. The unknown can be surprisingly beautiful when it comes to making friends; chances are those same five people you're used to hanging out with will disperse, and that's okay. Keep in touch with the important people, but stay open to the prospect of new ones.

- Right now you're probably really good at a lot of things that won't matter in a few months. And that's fine, and you should enjoy this time when your ability to procrastinate and flirt and other high school things are all that you need to do. But soon no one will care that you were class president or prom queen or have a hot tub or an A in Bio. You'll be the one who's inexperienced and naive, and you'll need to be ready to humble yourself and learn. It's a tough transition, so don't let it shock you.

- At the same time, don't let anyone make you think you have to know what you're doing with your life right now. When people ask you where you "want to go" with your major, you can say "I don't know yet." They will live with that answer. You're not supposed to have it all figured out. In fact, that's part of the beauty of this time. Eventually, you WILL need to figure things out, but that's not for a while. College is not the end, it is merely a stepping stone. You can focus on this one step and not the next 5.

In general, just don't wind yourself too tight and let life happen to you. You've come so far, and there's so much ahead of you, and the best thing you can do for yourself is relax into it.

Oh, and throw confetti and scream and take a BILLION pictures at graduation. Let it be the happiest, cheesiest celebratory day ever. You've earned it.

Dear Brother,

I write from a (mostly) quiet coffee shop counter. It is the hour at which the only customers are the ones who are like me: drowsy but still focused, and content when left to themselves; every new walk-in either feels like an intrusion or destiny. Behind me, the coffee pot sizzles like a small, sad version of our fireplace at home. You don't know how lucky you are. I should be pored over the French textbook next to me, but my head and heart are filled with thoughts of you.

You, who strides with confident adolescent swagger down those high school halls like a blindfolded man through a minefield, unaware of the dangers on every side. You, who will scoff at Dad's lectures on purity but let me give the same ones ten minutes later, collapsed across my bed instead of your own. You, who still calls me after every good Castle episode just so we can yell excitedly at each other through the phone, even if only for five minutes, after which I hang up longing to hear what's really going on in your heart.

Do you have any idea where you are?

You are at the crucial point of your existence. Some might say it's when you leave home, or when you start working, but I say it's now. At the precarious, fragile beginnings of high school, when it's not cool to care yet, and you can skate by on apathy and shallow friendships.

Don't. Settle.

You have the biggest heart. The strongest voice. The things that God could do through you are unimaginable. He could transform that entire, terrifying school. I want bigger things for you than I could have ever accomplished in those four years. You have so many gifts that I don't: natural leadership, unapologetic opinions, and a knack for making friends. You are the perfect balance of strength and gentleness, and you could probably take my place at Gordon and win over everyone that I know in the time it took me to make one real friend. The Holy Spirit would spread like wildfire with you as a vessel and it makes my heart ache with preemptive pride because I know that in your heart of hearts, you know it too.

It's so unfair of me to ask anything of you. For you to deny the worldliness of your friends, give up every shred of the image you so carefully craft, treat girls as precious treasures even when none of them around you are worth your effort, and chase after God with everything you have would take miles more courage and maturity than I had at your age.

But oh brother, I wish it. I wish it more than anything. Some days, I'm enjoying a solitary breakfast, or trudging through the icy slush to class, and am overwhelmed with the sudden longing to walk every step through that school beside you and shield you from its blows. My heart breaks for you daily because I have so much love for you. You've been my friend so many times when I had none. You've picked on me one moment and picked me up the next. You've rejoiced with me, mourned with me, gasped over TV show twists with me, and made a fool of yourself on family vacations with me. No amount of thanks can cover the extent of joy you've brought to my life. I want nothing but the highest joy for yours, and I've seen where it's found: in Him. Your unrelenting zest for life and adventure would be more than satisfied by a life devoted to Him, and it's my prayer every day that you would seek it.

Perhaps one day, when you have crossed the minefield and are preparing to embark on a life of your own, I will tell you these things with my hands on your (much higher) shoulders and you will hear the truth in the tears that choke my voice. Until then, I remain behind this quiet coffee shop counter, praying with an aching heart.

Be brave, pal.

Dear American Red Cross,

According to you, a pint of Liquid Me was unwelcome today in the science center during the blood drive. Why, you may ask? Well, apparently spending 5 or more years in Japan puts me at a slightly higher risk for a blood disease that they conveniently can't test for without an autopsy. So it looks like my dangerous foreign-exposed blood will not be saving any lives except my own.

And as I left the science center having gained a chapel credit but lost no blood, I was tempted to regret having told the truth about that small Asian island that held so much of my life in its salty hands. But then I stopped myself. 

Because you know what? 

That fifth year in Okinawa- the definitive year that prevented me from giving blood today- gave me the happiest and most fulfilling moments of my life. I spent it with the people who will be in my wedding- the people who saw more of my character grow and hold more of my heart than any other bunch on this measly continent. I jumped off a 30-foot tower into the ocean. I set a bonfire in my backyard. I latched onto the tail fin of a moving whale shark. I ate fried rice so incredible it made me cry just thinking about it a year later. I laughed and cried when things mattered, dreamed wildly and loved more than I knew I could. 

And I refuse to regret it. Because that year on that jewel of an island may have prevented me from saving anyone else's life today... but it sure saved mine. 

Dear God,

Is there a reason that my best Okinawa friend suddenly can't come for a week and my best Virginia friend had to move to Alabama and my best longtime friend has to have cooler, busier friends and my best neighborhood friend has to leave this Saturday and is there a reason that I have to be alone?

Because if there is, it better be a dang good one.

It's my last summer before college, homebro. This is it. I don't want to spend it cleaning out my closet and sitting in front of my computer watching sad reruns on YouTube and.... dorm shopping. That's not what this summer is supposed to be. It's supposed to be about adventure and trying those insane things you've always wanted to do and listening to great music with great people and making memories right up until the moment you leave.

Problem is, I don't have any great people. And all my music is rather outdated right now.

Is this my life? Please say no.

Dear Princess,

Remember when you hated me? You would tweet mean things about me every morning. 

Sometimes I wonder if you still do.

Other times I wonder if I am nothing more than a foot in the door. A secret weapon. 

Other times I wonder if I should feel guilty for even talking to you.

But mostly, I just want to have you over for a sleepover and see if you're real. 

Maybe I just want to be able to have genuine love for you. Then I wouldn't have to keep feeling like a penance for someone else's bitterness. 

Dear Freshman Abby,

Don't worry. You make it out alive.

Some things that will stay the same:

You will never stop desiring mermaid-like hair. (You crack and chop it off in the winter of 2010, but it grows back. Very, very slowly.)

You continue to attach cosmic significance to the moment in which any boy looks at you. However: Try and chill out a bit and maybe forget about the Boy Who Plays the Drums, Boy from Freshman P.E, Boy You’d Love To Hate, Boy in the Checkered Shirt, and Boy with Blue Eyes. None of them ever work out. (In fact, they’re actually solid people to have as friends. Try that sometime.)

Your makeup routine consists of: a swiping of powder, a puff of blush, and chapstick. (You give up on eyeliner rather quickly.)

The 49'ers t-shirt never stops being the most reliable article of clothing ever.

Pepper is a greater cuddle buddy than any boy. 

Grades are always important to you, whether you enjoy the class or not. 

Tree-climbing and thunderstorms are your versions of heaven. 

Some things that will shift dramatically: 

The number of people you call your "best friends." 

Your bangs. 

The extent to which certain movies (and moments) can make you cry.

Your taste in music. (Oh, how quickly you realize that there is more than Owl City and PureNRG! Soon you'll discover the joy that is Keane and Sleeping At Last and Jukebox the Ghost. Get excited.)

The number of leather-bound journals in the pink shoebox. 

Your level of competitiveness in team-oriented games. 

Your sunglasses collection grows beautifully! (Surprisingly, the Thailand/Cambodia border is a great place to look.)

Your comedic timing greatly improves. I think.

Some things you'll learn: 

Your fascination with using a camera lens to make the world look more like itself is just beginning. Soon, you’ll be discovering all the wonderful things a DSLR can do, moving to a house with a spectacular backyard view of the entire eastern Okinawa shoreline, and visiting places like Tokyo and New York city- places where photo-worthy moments will surround and overwhelm you.

Clothes should highlight you, not your body. And it's okay to surreptitiously copy those gorgeous hipsters. One day your style will be a blend of everyone you admire and somehow, it will be completely unique and yours. 

It's okay to be sad, even for a full year, but a genuine laugh or two during that time does not make you a traitor.

Diving with whale sharks is majestic, but throwing up over the side of the boat isn't. 

Wit is invaluable. 

Letting yourself sleep instead of crying at midnight over unfinished homework will not negatively impact the greater scale of your life.

Adventures come in all forms. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Enjoy the ride, kid. It flies by. 

Dear Scatterbrained, Messy-haired, Ordinary Abby,

I found Put-Together Abby just as you described her... well, almost. She was cruising by in the passenger seat of a beige Toyota, medium-long curls dancing in the almost-summer breeze, singing loudly to Jukebox the Ghost, thinking not about the Almost-Perfect College, but her Wonderful Friend in the driver's seat and Action-Packed Week of Adventures ahead of her.

And I learned that maybe Put-Together Abby isn't as Put-Together as we originally thought.

So don't worry. Look up from the math homework you're hunched over on your bedroom floor and take a walk. It'll all be okay.

Sincerely,
The In-Between Abby

http://theerdelatzkid.blogspot.com/2014/01/dear-put-together-abby.html

Dear World,

Hey. Buddy. Um, don't know if you got the newsletter, but if you did, go ahead and take another look at the calendar.

See where it says it's May? That means the busy-ness stops now. Like... now. I'm not supposed to be running around at all hours doing things I'd rather not have to do. I'm not supposed to be having to cancel on other people because I have conflicting plans. I'm not supposed to be having to tell the person that I want to see the most that we'll have to schedule something for next week. What's wrong with you?

This was supposed to be the part where I could skip school and go on adventures and not... like, you know... worry so much.

Sigh.

Just... get your life together, will ya? I'm tired.

Dear American Dream,

I couldn't care less about you.

I have no desire to attend an almost-Ivy-League college if it becomes my answer to whether countless hours of staying up and running my brain ragged were worth it. Nowhere inside my being is there an urge to climb the corporate ladder only to sit in a cubicle and kill trees with a printer all day.

I want adventure. I want to get my shoes muddy every time I do something new, to desperately scrape up money to take flights to southern France, to pack a suitcase in ten minutes for an impromptu drive out to amusement parks on the Canadian border, to take a roadtrip in my pajamas once every month or two.

Today, I hardly thought once about my less-than-passing grade in AP Calculus, nor did I set aside a proper amount of time to finish my AP Lit paper that's due next class... and you know what.
I can't remember the last time I was so happy to be alive...

Dear Prom Date,

I just want to keep saying that. :}

Thanks for making me blush in front of a crowd of people and then taking me out for a milkshake to cool down my face. It didn't work.

Thanks for always opening the car door, no matter how many times I try to dart in it by myself.

Thanks for making me think something was about to happen every time I went to the bathroom, or you left the room, or I turned around. You are a punk.

Thanks for not waiting until the morning of April 5th to show up at my doorstep with a dress. I would have hated you.

Thanks for inviting my whole family to the improv show and thinking I wouldn't notice them all in the back.

But seriously. Thanks for telling my dad. He likes stuff like that.

Thanks for being the first of those three guys to ask, and consequently being the guy that got all the "Awwwww"s from every girl in the audience.

Thanks for planning cool stuff like this.

Today was pretty cool thanks to you.

Guess now it's official,

can't back out :}

Dear Telephone,

I've always wished you could be one of those deliciously 1960's things with the cord that I could twist between my fingers as I paced the bedroom with my whole hand gripped around a huge receiver that covered the entire side of my face and captured every murmur and giggle I made.

But alas, a scratched and clunky Android smartphone will have to do.

However, I'll forgive your mediocre appearance because you simply make one so incredibly brave! How do you manage it?
Nevertheless, you're so soothing on emotionally-charged days and nights where the main thing needed is a nice long ramble. Because you know as well as I do that like-minded weirdos are always filled to the rim with fears, and your ever-listening luminescent rectangle is exactly what we need to straighten out the tangles of our thoughts.

So thank you ever so much for your patience while we stumble over the awkward limitations of the human language to get to the simplest of points. It really does make us brave.

Let's do it again sometime, shall we?

Dear Davis,

I am typing this on your laptop and you're currently staring at me with an expression that is a mix of bewilderment, annoyance, and something that's utterly charming. I'm sorry to do this to you, but you did ask for it. You can't just bring things up to tantalize me and then not tell me what you mean. So this is the only way I can think of to get back at you.

My position on the very edge of the chair is rather uncomfortable, but you refuse to stop watching me type, so I have to shield the laptop from your view.

I know the library is supposed to foster productivity, but so far it's only fostered daydreaming. It's all your fault.

Also: cinnamon buns.

Dear King of Kings,

You were so awesome today.

Well, You are every day, I suppose. But today I could see it all over the place! Let's start with 9:30am. I interviewed with a guy in a brown checkered jacket in a booth at the 610 Panera Bread.

He was a representative from Stanford University admissions. And....wow. Everything that I was worried about? Yeah, You took over the spirit of that interviewer, and suddenly it was You sitting across from me in that booth, telling me not to worry because You had it covered.

The best part, though(aside from the part where he said money would never be an obstacle I needed to worry about with Stanford, which was a huge burden lifted), was when he looked at me towards the end of our conversation and told me about how he felt like the "mistake" when he was accepted. And then he said,

"If you are fortunate enough to get into Stanford, consider yourself very lucky. And if you don't, consider yourself simply unlucky. It has nothing to do with your worth, or whether or not you "deserve" to be there. Because let me just tell you, and you tell your parents this as well. You are worthy. To be there. You deserve to be there, and whether or not you get in won't affect that. It's simply the luck of the draw."

I almost burst into tears. You were right there in that booth. I could feel it. It was amazing.

The rest of the day involved surprisingly easy homework, amazing worship at church, a delicious lunch, a letter, and wonderful fellowship in cars and restaurants and other such venues.

But to hear You tell me through the man in the brown checkered jacket, that I was worthy...
...was simply the most incredible and unexpected gift.

So I need to take a minute to thank You for it.

Wow, You're so wonderful. I can't even fathom it sometimes.

Continuing to praise,
Abby

To Those That Get It,

This is one of those trust moments where I'm placing part of me in the hands of who-knows-who.

I've heard that when you're a Christian, your relationships with others should be like a cross. You've got people above you pouring into you, people below you whom you're pouring into, and those on either side who are there with you, and you all pour into each other.

Well, my 'cross' has been pretty lopsided as of late.

I noticed it a little while ago that I really didn't have too many close friends, but it really hit me when I realized that I had even fewer Christian friends.

And today when I was venting to my mom and absolutely broke down, I realized that this is not something to be taken lightly. It's a real struggle, and a real need.

I have some scattered Christian friends in my area at the moment. Excluding my family from back in Okinawa, there are a handful of people that I see occasionally that are genuinely life-giving, and pour into me like Jesus.

But in my daily life, like-hearted people are absolutely scarce.

Oh, I have a few friends that call themselves Christians, and some even act like it. But like-hearted is something very rare. And I'm realizing that trying to get by on.... the relationships I have been... is not working.

I can feel this huge hole in my life. And as it widens, I can sense the world trying to fill it. I notice myself being tempted to fill it with temporary things. It's scary. I'm trying to respond by simply spending more time with God. That helps, of course. But there is a definite place where Godly, life-giving relationships are designed to fit, and that place is nearly empty.

Yes, this is teaching me to rely on God more. Immensely. In a short time, I've made amazing discoveries on how to bring His Presence into my daily routine and have seen incredible joy come from that. I know I need to depend on Him for my joy, not others.

But as my mother comforted me today, she reminded me of the truth: to be loved is a God-given need. And there's nothing wrong with needing human relationships, because sometimes those are the venues by which God blesses us.

So okay. Here's why I'm saying all this on the Internet.

I'm done hiding this. I'm done hiding the fact that there is a gaping hole in my heart and in my life. It won't get better until I am honest about where I am.

To any readers that are Christians and know what I'm talking about:
Prayer could not be more needed. I cannot under any circumstances go through this life alone, and so if nothing else, pray for more of His Presence. (But some friends would be nice too.)

To any readers I have yet to become properly acquainted with: 
Say hi to me sometime, please. Even if you're not into the whole Jesus thing, I could use a few kindred spirits. It helps more than you realize.

Let your kingdom come in this world and in my life...

....Your love is strong....

Dear Thursday,

Way to exceed my greatest expectations!

Just when I thought the week was nothing more than mediocre, you decided to show up with a bag of awesome and knock my socks off. It's been too long since Thursdays lived up to my love.

To recount some of your joyous surprises:

-Spontaneous and shameless dancing in Creative Writing (in my desk, no less), followed by an outburst of fist pumps and ninja kicks down the hallway because I just couldn't contain the happiness that Olly Murs and La Roux and New Politics had jazzed into my brain through my earbuds.

-Successful wearing of a headband for the first time in, well, ever.

-The incredibly unextraordinary yet thrilling exchange that passed between an attractive boy in AP Calc and I this morning that went something like this:
Me: "How was the weekend?"
Him: "It was really great."
Me: "Good."

-Being informed that at least one of my writings is almost certainly being included in the six pieces that our school submits to a literary magazine for publishing.

-My first semi-professional audition for a play outside of school (for a lead, no less!) in which a charming and wonderfully intelligent old director man named Fred said I had a "lovely" British accent during my read.

-A long-overdue mint chocolate chip milkshake from Wawa.

-My first college acceptance letter, which just happened to be accompanied by a $16,000 scholarship.... y'know, just 'cause.

All in all, you were a beautiful and unexpected gift! Feel free to take it easy 'till you roll around again....you deserve it, grand friend. :)

To the Falling-Apart World,

Can we all just be honest with one another?

We put our trust and love into things that are not God, nor should they be. And it never works out, does it?

They always fail. They always do.

And sometimes, the heartbreak and agony that follows is literally a physical pain, crushing and choking your heart right out of your chest and into your throat. And it's awful.

And where do we turn to put ourselves back together? Those same things, of course.

How silly. You think we'd learn. Ah, irony and it's grim consequences.

There go our hearts.

Why don't we learn to guard our hearts? Let's stop giving them away at every turn. Better yet, let's stop blaming things and people when they don't take care of our hearts the way God is designed to. You can't treat anything else like God. It's not fair.

And let's let ourselves be hurt. But then let's move forward. Out of the things that hurt us and onto brighter horizons. Let's not look back with bitterness and blame the world for our insecurities. Let's take it as one takes a vitamin: swiftly, with a painful swallow, knowing that it's only going to make us better over time.

Now. Let's pick ourselves up like the conquerers we long to be and face the world for no one's approval but God's.

Dear Put-Together Abby,

I saw you cruise by in a faded blue Jeep Cherokee, long curls dancing in the summer breeze, whistling to Jukebox the Ghost, smiling obliviously, so caught up in your perfect daydreams that you completely missed the house and kept driving.

Um. 

I know you're all caught up in your perfect life and all, and that you're probably really busy packing photos and hip decor into your boxes to take to The Perfect College, but if you could find a minute to come back, we're not doing so hot without you. 

You see, this whole "living" thing requires complete attention, and when we're so busy studying for AP classes and trying to fulfill the American Dream, we forget about that. Gorgeous opportunities for adventures absolutely dance outside our second-story bedroom window and we're crouched on the scratchy carpet, puzzling over a math problem, concentrating too hard to look up. 

But I know you're enjoying yourself. And it's such a lovely picture to just admire, to be honest. So if you don't feel like coming back and dragging yourself through the muck, I suppose messy-haired, scatterbrained, too-concerned, ordinary Abby will just have to do. 

She's kind of cool sometimes, I suppose. 

Anyways.

Send us a postcard! 

Dear Someday Stranger,

Some days, I catch glimpses of you in carefree laughs that come from others' joy at spending time with me and wonder if you'll really be so bold to sing out of the rolled-down windows.

Other nights, I scroll through pictures from July 2012 and remember the warm and selfless love that filled a tiny village and wonder if it was your dirt-caked sneakers that trekked those same paths with me.

And occasionally, I look around crowded rooms, peering into the shining minds of a select few and just bask in the thrilling possibility that you might be in there somewhere.

But mostly, I close my eyes because I have no idea where to look.

The places I really want to look are the forested mountains of Montana, the gently falling leaves of Boston, the sparkling oceans of San Francisco, and various sunlit libraries. Because somehow I can't get the idea from my head.. it's there that you're waiting, patiently leafing through poetry or shuffling through your playlists until I get there.

I'm coming as fast as I can, I promise.

I just wouldn't want to rush past you by accident.

The Truth About Matt Zimmerman

(Inside jokes will be bolded for your convenience)

They've shipped us, they've gossiped about us, they've pretended to know all about us, individually and together. But they've never gotten the truth, the full truth.

Okay. Here it is.

I met Matthew last year, as one of my first three friends at Colonial Forge. I knew immediately he was a cool kid, I just didn't know the extent of his coolness yet. Several (okay, a couple) people would keep telling me,

"You should, like, date Matt- you guys would be, like, good together." 

Of course I wasn't about to go for that, not at such a rough point in my story. But for the first awful year in Stafford, he stayed a loyal friend. He shared my love of cool words (high five for vocab), we thought the same weird people should randomly date (can we ship that?), and most of all, he was the only person I saw on a regular basis who fully appreciated who I was really trying to be.

So then, in late April, as many know, I finally gave in and realized I was unlikely to find anybody else like that. So we dated. (crossed eyes, apple juice, chocolate chip cookies, Pacific, can we ship our own relationship?)

And duh, it was pretty epic, if I do say so myself. People I'd never spoken to would come up and tell me they'd wanted us to get together since, like, forever. It was actually kind of cool.

But of course, towards the end of the summer, we broke up. What happened was....well, I don't need to put everything out there. I will say that we both knew we were going to have real priorities for senior year, and we promised to stay friends....great friends.

And I was skeptical about this. I hated the idea of seeing him no longer as my buddy, but as my... ex-boyfriend. Ugh. That's an awful term to assign to someone.

But to this day, I'm shocked and amazingly proud of how we handled it. We stayed friends, and became BETTER friends. Like, best-buds-for-life-friends. Um. Who. Does. That.

Oh, and did I mention that he became my official brother in Christ at Rockbridge, in one of the most dramatic answered prayers I've ever witnessed.

And it's never been awkward. (Well, not seriously.) He calls me after he goes on cute dates to bookstores with adorable girls, and I fangirl like they're my favorite TV couple and start planning my toast at their wedding. And whenever I text him screenshots of things cute boys have said to me, he immediately responds with: "Can he just ask you on a date already."

You think I'm kidding

And our conversations. Are. So. Darn. Funny. We have the weirdest sense of humor when we type. And when we get going on a metaphor, we can't stop using it.

Talking about "the show" went on for about four more screenshots

And though we've disagreed on many things, we don't really fight. Neither of us are confrontational, so when we ever get close to seriously disagreeing on something, one of us brings it up and we have a long talk about it, which inevitably ends with us realizing it was stupid. 

How he resolved our last disagreement and yes it worked

In all seriousness, I've never had a friend like him before. Oh, I've had people that I can tell anything to, and that understand what I'm thinking before I say it, and who I have a never-ending arsenal of inside jokes with, and who has a million little things that bug me but I overlook them because they pale in comparison to the awesome things.

But I've never had someone who takes care of me when I can't do it for myself. Who recognizes when I'm too cowardly or weak-willed or afraid to do something, but help me do it anyway because they know it's the best for me.

And the moment I realized I did, I started thanking God for a friend like him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Matt,

Thank you for never stopping being my friend. Thank you for always caring about what I think, and not being afraid to say when I'm being stupid. Thank you for continuing to look at me and geek when our most sacred ship is in a room together. Thanks for being the only one to notice when I wear eye makeup, and immediately knowing the reason why. Thank you for having more faith in me than I do in myself, and refusing to be realistic about your expectations for me. 

Don't ever make excuses for yourself. Don't ever change for someone. Don't ever comprimise. Don't ever.

You have no idea how extraordinary you are.

Love, the brown-eyed girl from a hotel hallway (Not in that awkward way though-you get what I mean.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So to everyone that's made assumptions:

-His one-act play is not about me. 

-He is totally, completely, without a doubt, STRAIGHT.

-We do not have a constant "thing" for each other.

-He's a best friend to me. So there. 

Dear Princess,

Look.

I get it. I do. I'm a girl. I have a Twitter. And common sense.

Unfortunately, I think you've been told a rather flawed version of the story.

The truth is, I'm not the villain who stabbed a friend in the back. I'm just someone who tried to stand up to a dragon for what she believed in and it turned around and breathed fire in her face.

And I'm not your prince's... temptress.
I'm his best friend.

You see an unfamiliar figure on the distant castle wall and you think it's an enemy, but in reality I'm just the knight who was left behind to keep everyone safe.

Please don't shoot me.