My Friend. Day 193.

*This is why I write: 543

I have a friend and her name is Deaven. My Jeep pronounces it like “Deeven” when she texts me, but her name sounds like heaven, and if you’re ever so lucky to meet her, you will think it makes sense.

Deaven makes everyone feel adored and accepted (unless there’s a baby or animal in the room because the humans become unnoticed to her at that point). She’s surrounded by this invisible, yet heavily apparent aura of warmth making even strangers feel comfortable around her. (Again, sans puppies and babies.)

She’s a little weird, actually more than a little, but it’s OK because I am, too. It means I can talk to her about anything, and in a family with all boys, it’s refreshing. Sometimes I wonder if I unload on her too much, but she would never say. She’s a person you can share with, and there will be no judgement, only openness and true listening. She doesn’t rush to say what she wants to say, but opens her mind to simply listen.  

If you have a music question, ask her. She knows all the names, lyrics, and genres, and her playlist is filled with deep dives and oh yeahs that range from Simon and Garfunkel’s “Cecilia” to “Ms. Jackson” by Outkast. As with her love of the notes, her style also does not follow the conventional guidelines of modern fashion.

She’s a thrift store shopper and that girl who finds all the goods. She knows how to put pieces together to show her swag, and although she doesn’t want the attention of admirers, she’s a magnet for them. I’m continuously in awe of her swag and ask her opinion often which she graciously gives.

I’m lucky because I get to spend many of the holidays with her, I’m so fortunate to see her weekly, and we’re part of the same text chain where we’re the only girls. It’s nice to have some more estrogen around the house during Christmas or someone’s birthday, and more than that, it’s nice to have a friend around.

Cheers to Deaven, my friend, the other girl around here, a pretty magnificent person, one who deserves all the puppies and rosemary and cheesecake Earth has to offer. (But when you all raise your glasses to her, refrain from ones filled with Cosmopolitans. That’s another story.)

LY, kiddo.