On September 20, 2003, I wore a long jean skirt and a frilly white blouse that later received a yellow stain on the shoulder from a highlighter.
On September 20, I "went out" with a boy. Four days later, on his birthday, I dumped him. We've been best friends ever since.
He is not your typical boy. He's a sweetheart. He blushes at the mention of kissing or even holding hands. He is selfless and polite and forgiving and smart. He is awkward and adorable and nerdy and silly. He is real.
For some reason, I have been blessed by being able to have a great friendship with him. We sang in chorus together. We sat in lunch and counted the sprinkles on our Cosmic Brownies. We made origami paper animals during class. He drew me pictures and wrote me notes that I have saved for six years.
And then last year, he moved 2,111.09 miles away from me.
Somehow, we're still friends, and our relationship has grown stronger across the distance. I absolutely love him. Although he is my best friend and nothing more, I hope the man I marry is just like him. I won't settle for anything less than that.