I haven't met anyone who thinks like her.
She has these cute little notebooks that she writes cute little words in. While flipping through them sitting on her kitchen stool in the heart of Manhattan I thought, "I want to be like her".
I could talk to her for hours.
It felt like we were in a movie. I had a broken heart and she came to help the healing with cheesecake.
We sat in a Starbucks in Soho huddled up next to the window.
It was raining.
But she brought something better than cheesecake.
She brought one of her little books, filled with her little words. They were quotes and poems on love. On heartbreak. They seeped into the cracks of my weak little heart and the pain and hope of those words on those pages resonated with me more than anything had in days.
She let me borrow the little book. I still have it.
But she brought something better than a little book.
She listened. And she cared. It felt so good that she cared. She validates me in a way that is different from anyone else. Her compliments may be simple but they are so. genuine.
I watched her tonight sitting cross legged on the counter.
Grateful.
Just grateful.
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