They hovered on the wall at the museum just a few kilometers from our home. Somewhere between art and fashion. And in the three pieces I could see myself, my mom and my friend. Bloused from within, I walked out in the comfort, the beauty, the style, the glorious art of friendship. 

And I suppose, that’s what it is, love, friendship, this ability to see yourself with someone. I wrote once, “I really like who I am with you.” 

“I really like who I am with you…

I hope that doesn’t sound bad to say…

I mean it more as a compliment to you, more of a “thank you” really.

You free me to be this person who laughs and

cries and feels and enjoys and loves.

What a relief to be myself,

without performing, or worrying…

just being and becoming who I am…

That’s some gift…

I hope I’m returning it…

because you know what,

I really like who you are with me.”

It’s the opening of my “friend” book. And it wasn’t lost on me, as I stood in front of the three art pieces, there in black and white, that my book was as well. And maybe it can be that simple, a good hang, a good friendship, to simply like each other, to tell each other, often, it’s great to be your friend.