Which I try to do every day.
Which is easy because I live with her.
My new roommate is beautiful. Multi-talented, generous, and full of life. She doesn’t judge me, always pushes me, and shoots straight from the hip. She is tough and smart, which has served her quite well in becoming independent so young. But she is also vulnerable and has a huge heart.
My new roommate and I met one day in Penn Station. We looked at apartments, ran all over town, then finished the day on the floor of Penn Station pouring our hearts out to one another. I never feel that I need to censor myself or hold back with my new roommate.
My new roommate is wise beyond her years. I had nowhere near her strength, drive, or maturity when I was her age. But my new roommate is still very young. My new roommate is sometimes like a little sister to me, and sometimes I am the younger sister to her. My new roommate and I can teach each other so much.
My new roommate talks in riddles. Of love, integers, and origami pomegranates. She makes strange sense out of strange situations, with her strange parables.
My new roommate looks at me sometimes with wide brown eyes brimming with excitement and utters, “We’re doing it.” My new roommate looks around at the wonderful city I have always loved and she has just come to know, the life full of foibles and fabulosity we live, and the enormous hurdles we have already overcome. She feels it, and I feel it too. She understands, and knows why I am grateful every single day to have all that I have here. Not only are we doing it, we’re doing it.
Thanks to you, my new roommate.
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I love this. I hope she reads this one day.