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love. week thirty six.

date. 2021

city. rome, italy

Image by Annie Spratt

September 23​ 


I wrote this while high, so hopefully it'll still make sense once I’m sober.




I’ve been thinking about how friendships are formed.


The process of locating those people who I like spending time with, but who also like spending time with me. And gradually letting go of the rest. The countless thousands of ‘rest’.


And at the very top, I have my handful of best friends. The people in the world I like the very most and who (somewhat magically) feel the same about me.


Spend enough time with them, and I begin to realize that these are the people I’ve chosen to go through life together with, as they’ve chosen the same. I care about them. I care for them. Having found a friend, I hold onto them. I reach out to them. They are my world. No, they are the foundation of my world.




Friends and family. That’s about all you get in this life, but unlike family, your friends actually chose to be there with you.


While I love my family, I like my friends. I share things with them that I would never share with my family.


In a universe built on neutrality, a friend is the only part of that universe that reaches out its hand to you and offers you its support.


What can I do in response, but hold on with all my might.


And that’s how friendships are formed.





To be a spouse is to be both friend and family.


But family is unconditional, while friendship breathes freedom.


This is the challenge that all lovers accept. A relentless attempt to sustain freedom within necessity. Structured chaos.


I suppose, after all, that this is the challenge of life itself.


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