This essay is apart of a larger, unfinished project in which I attempt to chronicle the people I love. If you think this is about you, it might be.
I was friends with a crazy girl who made a lot of good points. She once said you should introduce yourself to beautiful strangers by giving them a little lick on the cheek. And if they don’t respond favorably, never look at them again. This advice is coming from a girl who smashed an avocado in the face of a politician.
She was insane and completely oblivious to it. And I loved that about her. Her perpetual state of borderline clinical insanity was refreshing. Her single-minded dedication to getting attention was cartoonish, but unintentional. She was simultaneously self-absorbed, empathetic, and sincere; she was pretty and she was powerful. She was objectively beautiful, but never cute. She, as a person, was a thing of fairy tales.
Our friendship started off as playful display of love but ended the way it always ends with her– in a goddamn firestorm.
And, still, I will always love her.
To clarify, I don’t love her in a pathetic, pining way. And I don’t love the unkind parts of her.
Who I love is the fearless girl who showed me her nipples before introducing herself with a name.
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