He knocks on my door and I wake suddenly, remembering the promise of coffee and good conversation in the morning. Slowly, I roll out of bed and pull on the same jeans I've been wearing for the past year, my second skin. Black t-shirt, snow boots, big puffy jacket, hat that I shrunk in the dryer. I pad down the hall, hearing the floorboards creak in all the right places, not noticing chalk all over the front of my shirt.
We laugh in mutual recognition of our idiosyncrasies. He says he loves the quirky personalities. I appreciate this more deeply than I can explain. But A is one of those people who I feel most like myself around; no longer feel as though I have much to hide. True friendship is a beautiful thing.
II.
Mountains, my friend. Mountains and sunsets and laughter and beer. Something like that.
