The first day I saw you on a Lycée bench with a skirt as short as mine on, I hated you. No, I envied you. You were beautiful, intriguing, and new. Like the newborn sibling that the first child hates because all of the attention is suddenly sucked out of their room. What I hated most is how little you liked me. I tried being friendly, nice, and at twelve years old, attempted as hard as I could to hide my jealousy. 

Three weeks later, we were inseparable. To this day, we are inseparable. Ignore the giant border of seas and countries between us, because that clearly has not meant or changed a thing. It is no secret that you are my soul mate. You know what each strand of hair that sticks to me means. You can decipher the calligraphy within a furrowed brow, and know every different facial expression of mine for every day of the year. You’ve seen me at my smallest, so small that you had to fit me into your pocket, carry me around because my legs weren’t strong enough to hold my body up. You’ve seen my at my largest, filled with so much light and passion that you could only smile in admiration and a proud comfort. You’ve done what every typical best friend/sister has/could do, and more. When I needed tissues, you gave me your sweater. You’ve kept a distance with every guy I’ve ever dated because your loyalty was always to me, never becoming more than a watchful eagle in their lives. Even after all of this time, not a single thread in our relationship has withered and I still come to you every day when I feel a stitch in my heart, and get a new tattoo. You’re the only person who can tell me I’m being a stupid, selfish, bitch and I can’t get angry because I know you’re right. 

One day I will take the time to write our whole relationship, and every girl will be glowing with jealousy or relation because they want a bond that is as powerful as two countries. 

Each day I try to be a little more like you, and I know you hold a little bit of me, and that’s why I never cry because I need you. I always have you.