You Made Home a Home

Her name is Hannah.
I didn't know she was going to be my best friend when I met her in 2005. She had braces and I had pimply skin and greasy hair. We went to see some movie with some friends, we ate Arby's, I went home and never thought I would see her again.
Until she moved into my dorm room at MSU. Our dorm room. Room 104. Then the house 242. And apartment 107. And now, apartment 334. This is our last few weeks together.
I have lived life for four years with the best partner, friend, sister, mate in the whole entire world. Maybe you think I'm being melodramatic when I tell you that I am crying onto my keyboard at just the thought of not being her roommate anymore. You see, when you breath the same air as someone for long enough you start to pick up on the things that other people wouldn't. You start to communicate in ways that aren't entirely conventional. Your brain waves sync up. You answer strangers with the same tone of voice at the same moment with the same words, often. Your actions reverberate off of each other. Your things become our things. Hannah, you make any place feel like home, even if it's in the corner of a really awkward party that we weren't invited too.
On any given Friday you can find us drunkenly deep cleaning our apartment. I wish this didn't sound so lame to outside world, because some weeks, all that's getting me through the week is knowing that Friday night we'll get to bleach the shower grout while drinking Turbo Corona's. Or on Saturdays when we put on our lipstick and become the double trouble duo, hiding tiny bottles of rum and vodka in our purses. We just want to be dancing, dancing, dancing. During the week days, when we are both running out of steam, out of food, and some weeks, we've run out of tears. But there is always time to stand in your doorway and debrief. There is always time for ONE MORE YouTube video. There is always time to be slumped over the kitchen table discussing our fears, our dreams, how we see the world. There is always time for KiKi MeowMeow. Without you, Hannah, I would not know what is happening in the world. You are my newspaper.
There aren't enough ways to thank you for being my person. Being the one who makes home a home. There aren't enough ways to thank you for being my best friend. For writing me little notes of encouragement during some of the darkest days and helping me devour an entire pizza during some of the best. For celebrating the small victories, and being a part of the details. We knew we couldn't live together forever, but never did I think that it was going to be this hard. Even though we won't share a closet anymore, my shit will always be your shit. There aren't enough people like you in this world. Now go move some mountains.