Some girls look high and low for someone who will ask them what's wrong when they're down, someone who wants them around, someone who will give them most of the blanket during movies and encourage them to eat more ice cream, someone that will call them back consistently, someone who will make them laugh at the worst of times...someone who will encourage them in their dreams, and be brutally honest about their underwear lines.
Some girls just keep searching and pining and needing to find a guy that really gets them where they're at, and likes them for it, no matter what - someone that admits that they're incredibly high maintenance, but assures them that really, truly, is okay.
Some girls never find that guy.
I found mine at the ripe old age of five.
This boy has loved me in the best of times, and the worst of times. Every time I think I just can't fight any longer against the wily forces of dramatic 20-somethings, he shows up in sneakers and jeans, waiting for me to get out of class and meet him in a coffee shop, or showing up at my house and smiling, ready for dinner. He's always making time for an extra road trip to meet me where I'm at, promising to stay for the weekend and taking me to wherever it is I need to be to feel free. He calls when he knows all I'm going to do is yell and complain. He calls when he knows I'll laugh. He calls when he knows I'll cry.
He once saved me from dying of chunks of cut up jelly fish hitting me in the water while we were snorkeling in Playa Hermosa. He is a terrible dancer, but he's danced with me anyway. He's been criticizing my music taste since I was in junior high.
And, just when I start to think that I'm not a dork, he calls me "Shanree" really loud in public, and my chances are over.
He's been my best friend when I was at my worst, and he deserves some air time for all the emotional slush he's put up with (even if he does have Jimmy Neutron hair in these pictures).
Thanks for everything, L.