inarticulate sparkle.

Before anyone gets dramatic, this is not a love story. At least, not that kind.

There is not, and has never been, a single romantic ounce between us. He is not the one who got away. He is not the backup plan. He is not a plot twist waiting to happen. He is more like the big brother I accidentally acquired during one of the worst chapters of my life. (Which I’m sure sounds very sweet, until you realize he also makes terrible decisions, has an equally ridiculous dating life, and moved to my city after five years of basically being my emotionally supportive pen pal.)

So yes, this is a love story. Just not the kind people usually know what to do with. I have a best friend, and we’re going to call him Justin, because that’s the fake name he uses on dating apps lmao.

He came into my life during one of those chapters I still don’t know how to write about without either making it too dark or too vague. So for now, I’ll just say this: he showed up when I needed someone most.

Not in a grand, cinematic, running-through-the-airport kind of way. More like a notification. A message. A person on the other side of a screen who somehow became safer than people I had known for years.

I told him secrets I had no business trusting him with. He told me his, and somewhere between trauma dumping, bad jokes, emotional honesty, and both of us making questionable life choices, we bonded instantly.

The funny thing is, for someone who feels like such a permanent fixture in my life, I can probably count on two hands the number of times we have actually been in the same room. Most of our friendship has existed through messages, phone calls, secrets, screenshots, crisis updates, and whatever emotional support can be legally provided through a cell phone. The second time we ever met in person, he came over to my house while I was making food, and somehow, in the natural flow of conversation, I called him a bitch. As one does. From that moment on, my nickname was B. Not for beautiful. Not for best friend. Bitch. And honestly, it has been one of the more stable relationships in my life.

He is the only person who has ever seen me so drunk that I fell out of his Jeep in a bar parking lot, which is both horrifying and unfortunately very on brand. He has talked me through three absolutely terrible relationships, watched me chase my dream of becoming a cop, and somehow remained emotionally available through our plotlines that included the Mexican princess, the crazy white lady, and whatever disaster we were personally starring in at the time.

Sometimes we drift apart. Usually because he tells me some harsh truth I absolutely did not ask for, I get butthurt, and then I go be dramatic about it in private. But we always come back.

Because that’s what he is to me.

Not a backup plan. Not a romantic possibility. Not a threat to anything real in my life.

He is my rock. My accidental brother. The person who has seen too many versions of me to be easily scared off.

And I hope to God [redacted] understands that some friendships are not competition. Some people are just part of the foundation.

✨ Spark Note:

Not every love story is romantic.

Some are built out of bad decisions, brutal honesty, badly timed jokes, and one person deciding to stay long enough to become family.

This one just happens to call me B.