At nineteen, though so much was uncertain, I was sure of you. I knew you were a special, beautiful person, and I wanted to be connected to you. I also knew I never wanted to hurt you. At nineteen, I told you about a letter I wrote to God and how you were everything I described. I wrote that letter at my mom's instruction detailing all the things I wanted in a husband, but at nineteen, nine hours away from home, finally entering the world on my own, I was not ready to be wife. Hell, at nineteen I wasn't prepared to be a girlfriend. I told you and asked for your friendship. I thank God for the wisdom that nineteen year old displayed in those moments. Because of it, we had the foundation to build the most genuine relationship. At nineteen, you were my first. You were the first young man whom I shared intimacy with free of sex and free from fear. You allowed me to open up, so I told you things my closest girlfriends didn't know. I exposed parts of me unknown even to the guys experiencing my body, and you had to most perfect response. You reciprocated. I still remember the day we met. You were in the cafeteria. I was in the entry line. It was my turn. I pulled out my student id while making conversation with the sweet lady verifying my meal plan. When I looked up, there you were, carrying your tray, smiling. We made eye contact. I remember thinking something was going to become of that brief, lasting moment. I was right. We built a friendship that survived disagreements, infrequent communication, rare visits, new partners, ex-partners, marriage, divorce, life, and all the toxic forces that seek to eliminate purity in relationships. It amazes me that the nineteen year old girl who made so many poor decisions got this one so right. Our seven years of friendship mean more to me than you could know. At twenty-six I am as grateful for you as I was at nineteen, and I need my friend, my special, beautiful friend, as much today as I did back then.
