A Letter to the English Language
To my dearest friend,
Where do I begin? When I think of you, I think of the conversations we’ve had, and the things we’ve seen together. Most often, I think of the wonderful people you’ve allowed me to meet. Our conversations lend purpose to my time spent alone, granting guidance without judgment, experience without travel, and, as it’s worth repeating, the most wonderful of people.
In your stories, unflinching, I find answers which I steal to call my own. We take the best of others and we build ourselves; your gifts are truly unmatched. But like all great friendships, ours goes both ways, and you are gracious in my efforts to reciprocate your giving. Even when the ideas aren’t profound or the words particularly well said, I know I can speak freely with you. You’ve helped me to find a voice, often through trial and error, so that to others I may look well polished. It’s a favor I can never repay.
I think my favorite gift of yours, however, is your impeccable memory. Only you could preserve my thoughts so well, even as memory fails to retain them. It often surprises me to discover these thoughts, a part of me, frozen in time, so often inspiring change. And when I’m at a loss for inspiration? You provide more thought than I could ever hope to consume. It’s a beautiful, symbiotic, cyclical relationship and I hope that it lasts a lifetime.
We’ve grown up together, the two of us. You’ve been there for me in my most grand of achievements, and more importantly, you fill the holes in my day-to-day life. If only everyone could be the friend that you are.