It’s been almost a year since you joined me on my crazy dream to see the world—well, the continental US at least. We’re nearing the end of our journey, and I don’t want it to be over.
These past few months, I’ve learned so much about you that I somehow didn’t know, even after having known you nearly all my life. Like the fact you are a hogger. Not just the steering wheel, but the whole damn bed and covers and even my food.
Stop eating my food. Just stop.
Your stomach can’t handle beans. Trust me, I’m doing you a favor . . . well, the environment a favor, really. Because I don’t know how anyone can stink up an entire room like you.
But you know what else nobody can do?
Nobody will ever make me feel like I’m the queen of the world the way you do, even when I’m sick with the stomach flu or a snotty nose.
Nobody will ever care for me the way you do—all the time you’ve spent in random bars’ bathrooms while I was busy puking my guts out.
Nobody will ever jump off a cliff into the dirtiest lakes and river like you do, just because I want to go in.
Nobody will ever make me feel more secure than you do when the fears of my past come tumbling over.
And most of all, I know that no one will ever love me the way you do.
Seriously, I sometimes wonder if this is all just a dream and I’m trapped somewhere and don’t even realize it. Because, you know, I can’t fathom how I could have gotten so lucky as to find you when I least expected it.
You’re my best friend, my enemy, my confidant.
You’re the love of my life.
You’re part of who I am.
You are you, and how could I not love that?
P.S. I hate that nickname.
P.P.S. Don’t let this go to your head. Your farts are still like poison.