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“So tell us, what is it like loving your best friend?”

I would say loving your best friend has a lot of sides to it, in short, it’s complicated. 

It has a lot of benefits yet the disadvantages weigh the same. 

Or maybe there are more disadvantages than benefits and vice versa, I can’t say, it’s complicated. 

Loving your best friend is entering a world of hesitation, of admiring afar, and of countless pain.

I don’t know when it all started. When did I start looking at her differently? Or when did she start making my heart beat a second or two faster? I don't know.

One day, I just woke up and suddenly I cherished her more than my other friends, felt like that. It came rushing to me like waves, uncalled, unexpected, and it drowned me badly. 

So bad, that I was stumbling on my steps as I reached the shore, I was falling on my knees helplessly, yet I would go back to the sea and drown again without a second thought because loving her feels so good.

I love loving her. 

My breath hitches whenever I hear her say my name in her jade crystal-like voice. My heart melts whenever she looked at me with her onyx-doe eyes and when it sparkles, it could defeat every shine of the stars in the night sky. 

That face of hers hunts me in every dream, I sometimes wonder if I still own my dreams when all of the dreams are about her. She’s the protagonist of my everything and I don’t mind that. 

Being with her feels like my favourite time of the day, when my day is ending and I leisurely sit on my balcony with a glass of wine. The night breeze threaded my hair and kissed my face, my favourite song playing on the turntable echoing inside my apartment combined with the bustling city in front of me. 

My favourite time of the day calms my being, but I have to wait for the sun to rest yet whenever I’m with her it doesn’t matter if the sun is still up or if the moon has woken up because her embrace alone became my sanctuary. 

It’s amazing how this person makes me wonder what it would be like to be in love with someone when I used to be so scared of love.

She became a face that I searched for in the sea of crowds, her scent ghosts all my clothes, so her touch and her hugs became my favourite warmth and her voice became my favourite melody. 

Yet at the same time, she became my nightmare, the reason for my never-ending overthinking, the what-ifs and the maybe’s, the reason for my cry of sorrow.

It doesn’t matter though, she’s a person that is worth my every tear. 

Because she’s not at fault that I fell in love with her, but sometimes I want to blame her. But for what? For being the most wonderful person in the world? Maybe, I could blame her for that. 

For being too lovable, for being too kind, for kissing my scars, for holding my hand in every tremble of my nerve. Can I blame her for holding me close when I shiver in the cold? Or for telling me that she’s there and I’m not lost, that she’s here with me and I’m not alone. 

Maybe I can blame her for looking at me with eyes filled with pride whe