Dear Sara,

I know we’re not the type of best friends who spend every waking moment together and are obnoxious together. We don’t hug a lot, but we don’t need to. The friendship I have with you makes it so that I don’t have to announce to the world that you mean, well, a lot to me.

I like how I drive you everywhere - and how you’re still afraid of driving even though you’re seventeen years old. You start dancing and singing along in the car with me even though we’re both off-tune and fumbling with the words.

You’re the only person who seems to care about dream analysis - our, not serious and just for curiosity, pseudo-analysis.

Whenever something big happens in our lives, we tell each other. I like being able to trust you completely, and still fearing that if you know too much you’ll wonder why you put up with my mood swings and depression.

You were the first person I actually talked to after I tried to commit suicide and got out of the hospital. And I told you everything. You’re the only person who knows everything. You were one of the only people that meant anything to me.

Thanks for all the good times - when we’re trying on clothes we don’t like, and when we try to go on biking adventures with flat tires. But, also thanks for sitting me down and telling me that things aren’t going to be okay; you tell me that I have to change myself to get better.

You are my best friend and perhaps one of the greatest people I know.

— Rachel