It’s the deep, overwhelming, take-your-breath-away kind of experiences that make it. It’s a sort of branding of the soul. There’s a tattoo there, in the shape of my friend. Not sure how she got there, since I’ve sometimes done my best to strongarm people away. But she did. And I love her for it. She shows me the strong love of the Lord when she says that I’m full of poop. She says she loves me in many different ways and even in a language only the two of us understand. No one else besides her and my husband have this kind of permission into my life. It’s not the kind of friendship that blows around by every breeze, it’s the ‘I can totally picture her old self sitting next to me while we are being fed by nice workers in our nursing home’. That, my friend, is glue..