Birds of a Feather


Endless conversations about whatever comes to mind.

Artistic works.

Those nights are the longest.

I love that my best friend is a fellow artist. Love for art and the creation of it keep us from allowing each other to mess up.

We’re our own worst critics.

If you ever heard us interact with each other, you’d probably get lost. Even I think there’s something not-so-right about us.

I didn’t think it possible. That someone could understand me. I’d gotten to the point where I thought it wasn’t possible.

We strangely balance each other’s crazy.


There’s something about his character that I like though. Admire even.Maybe it’s because he doesn’t come with drama, and my drama doesn’t scare him away.

What’s even weirder is that he doesn’t talk tooo much, it’s exactly just enough. He knows how, where and when, what to say.

I don’t know how this happened.

Well, there was that random Facebook friend request…


How our friendship came about, or how I find him so easy to talk too I disclose things about myself most of my girlfriends don’t know.

I’ll blame it on the laws of attraction. 


They’re so obviously missing that we really had no choice but to become friends.

Most of the time when you get male-female friendships somewhere down the line wires are crossed, leading to one person liking the other. Those cases almost always end in these friendships turning into complicated sex that neither party can really recover from.

Either way, I’m really glad that I have allowed him to befriend me. And in some odd way, I’ve developed a level of care for him.




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