Thoughts from places: Hannah’s apartment 

On the sofa, with Riesling sloshing around in a cerulean glass to match my sweater, a half-eaten plastic parfait cup with too-sweet frosting resting in the bottom sitting on the cushion next to me, and Me and Earl and the Dying Girl flashing across the television screen: This is where I’ve chosen to spend my Thursday evening. 

I’ve been wondering lately what makes someone worthy of the “best friend” title. And can we have more than one best friend? Can we categorize people as “best” but for different scenarios?

  • Best friend who lives in a different country
  • Best friend who can keep up with me when I’m throwing back Jameson 
  • Best friend who has the most obscure opinions about life, the universe, and everything. 
  • Etc.

Or do we instantaneously need to classify the person we spend the most time in our lives with on a regular basis as our “best friend”? (Let’s be real, though. If that’s the case, my cat is my best friend.)

Perhaps, there is no such thing as having best friends, and every single person in our life is just the equivalent to a shampoo or face wash; we use people for different things in our lives just as everything in our shower is used for something different. 

I, however, think I have a bond with each person I encounter in my life; a red (yes red) thread (yes thread) that connects me to the people in my path. Some of those threads are just stronger than others. 

And one of my strongest threads is connected to a girl whose ruby red wine glass to match her plaid shirt with the same Riesling sloshing within, sitting on the other side of that same sofa, and nursing her own sweets housed in a clear plastic container whilst having a conversation about anything and everything with a film playing in the background. 

So yeah, I guess you could say Hannah is my best friend. 

Maybe it’s that simple after all. 

If you want to see Hannah’s ramblings and musings, check her out at Hello From Hannah.

Until tomorrow,

cheers. 

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