Sunday, July 2, 2017

She puts the “sun” on Sunday.

She’s bright and glows in her own way. She has more wisdom in the depths of life than in basic knowledge of using an iPhone. She gives pieces of advice you can’t get from anybody else.

She’s frank and outright honest. She does not sugarcoat things. She doesn’t tell you what you want to hear, rather what you must hear although you don’t listen anyway.

She’s hot-tempered and cranky 90% of the time (10% goes to her indecisiveness). She floods your phone every day with whimpers about how tired is her soul that she already wants to go home next year.



She is like Sunday.

It’s the day of the week that you can either start or end with, but it’s the only day that everyone always awaits. Sundays are for family, loved ones or yourself. Sundays sound more like celebratory than agony. Sundays are for catching up after a week-long of work or school torment.

She’s patient and welcoming. She accepts your stubbornness because she has her own resistance. She’s someone you’ll grow comfortable with—you’ll share things from the least important gossips to the deepest darkest secrets you promise to take to your graves.

She’s the bestest friend you are sure to spend most of your Sundays with to do chill, stupid things together.

Happy silver birthday, C! 🖤

P.S.
Building true friendship is difficult enough let alone making it last. Cheers to a long, worthy friendship, BFF!