To the ones I can sit for two hours with or twelve and we never quite get to the end of the conversation:
You Are Awesome.
When did we grow up enough to be married, to have children, to have careers, and aging parents? Hell, when did we ever get old enough to drive, or vote, or drink, or rent a car?
And yet here we are, sitting at the bar (the fancy one with tablecloths and candles over bottomless margaritas and buckets of salsa) talking about our few grandparents that are left, our parents that love you like you're their own and me like I'm the daughter that got away (that's a longer story isn't it?), and checking the time in case one of us needs to get home to nurse.
I love you old friends. I am so blessed, or lucky, or smart, or however one decides is most appropriate to describe someone who gets to have friends that knew them in their awkward stages, who knew them at their highest and loved them through their lowest, and still wants to drink bottles of wine and figure out the problems of the world together.