Pure

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When people want to express the epitomal point of something, it’s common to just add the word “pure” before the feeling or emotion, as if that purity enables the emotion or feeling to reach the utmost and extreme point of said emotion or feeling. 

Right now, I am feeling pure exhaustion. 

Which is ironic, because there is not a single thing pure about it. 

I am fuelled by caffeine and thoughts of new adventures. For the past week I have been sleeping (read “napping”) on the fold out couch, even as it is listed on Gumtree for free in the hopes that some sucker person in need comes and moves it for us. I’m surrounded by packing boxes, my best friend and flatmate is moving to Melbourne and I am wearing a huge boot on one leg. 

But I’m happy. 

The only thing I would change about this situation is the damn boot. 

My flatmate and I have lived together for eight years. She had a niece born at around the same time as I moved in, so as little niece grew she marked the time that my flatmate and I spent together. And my god we were a mess when we first met. 

But little by little, then lot by lot, we started getting our shit together. I guess in a way we grew up, grew into the versions of ourselves that we had tucked away as goals and hopes. They came to life as our friendship continued to grow and change and strengthen. 

This is what is pure. The friendship we made. Be it blessing or luck or timing, or whatever pre-ordained serendipity, we have a friendship that time and space will only continue to build upon. 

So dear flatmate, I love you endlessly and purely and wherever we live, you’ll always be my flatmate simply because I know we both co-habitate in the heart of a friendship that won’t change. 

Big love. 

 

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