Long distance friendships are hard.

We’ve all seen the made-for-Lifetime stories on the internet about long distance friendships: text messages sent to the wrong phone, or long-time online friends invited to a wedding. Those stories are great. They’re lovely. They’re not the whole truth.

They’re a part of it for sure. Finding your best friend online is kind of magical. One day you were sitting around, not talking to anyone, and then the next day you’re staring at your phone every thirty seconds, hoping a notification will come through. Because you found someone who’s actually into that foreign show that you like, and they’re new and they’re special and everything is exciting.

The beginning is great. It’s all “tell me about where you live,” and “oh my god, things are so different in Florida.” It’s learning their favorite music and important things in their life and “no way some student just crop-dusted your office.” It’s fun and it’s giddy and it feels like those soppy friendships you read about in those “Chicken Noodle Soup” books your grandma dished out every birthday.

It’s sending music back and forth and saying “I don’t why, but this reminded me of you.” It’s thanking God that your job lets you ship packages and letters for free, because you found best friend key chains, and Kelsey has to have hers right now. It’s begging your fiancé to trade important "Me Time" days with you so can stay up and watch that new show Kelsey’s interested in. It’s him asking, “Can’t Kelsey just watch it with someone else?” and you answering, “But she said no one will appreciate it as much as me.” It’s your mom giving you that look every time you take your phone out. It’s her saying, “Do you ever do anything else anymore?” And you thinking that no, you probably don't. Because right now, knowing what Kelsey did while you were sleeping is the most important thing. It’s trying to keep up with someone who has insomnia 22 hours away but also making sure your daughter goes to bed on time.

It’s that warm feeling you get when you send her a picture of your daughter for the first time and she says she’s never seen a cuter kid and, “Does Dylan need anything from the Disney Store?” It’s going to Cabo and picking out souvenirs for your family and automatically lumping Kelsey in with them. It’s you texting her afterward and her saying “no one has ever gotten me a souvenir before,” and you thinking “oh my god I’m going to be the best friend this girl has ever had.” It’s her deciding on a whim to visit you in your hometown, and you being so excited, but also terrified. It’s both of you clicking like there was never the Gulf of Mexico between you and you never wanting her to go back. Because Florida is a swamp place for swamp people and she should just stay here.

It’s her going back to Florida and hanging out with people that aren’t you. And you’re so happy for her because she deserves the world, because everyone should know just how amazing Kelsey is. But those people aren’t you. And what if they’re not telling her to eat (because she forgets to do that) or telling her to drink water (because she never does that) or letting her drink too much at parties (because she almost always does that)? It’s you being insanely jealous of anyone new that comes into her life because they’re filling a space you should. It’s her having to reassure you that no one else is her “Dej,” and you finally talking yourself off that cliff you’ve been on for weeks. Because no one knows Kelsey like you do, but no one knows you quite like she does either.

Finding your person online is great, but it’s also terrible. Kelsey lives 22 hours away from me if I drive, and two connections away if I fly. Some days the distance seems unimportant; you don’t need to be near someone to care about them. Other days the distance seems like the most impossible thing in the world, because how do you care about someone if you’re not even in the same state?

Sometimes Kelsey gets sad and she closes the blinds and she bundles herself up in her blankets and she logs off for hours at a time. That’s the worst. I can send all the messages I want, leave all the voicemails her storage will take, but I can’t be there. I can’t drive to her house and climb into bed next to her and tell her that things are going to be okay, and here drink some water and maybe eat something that isn’t microwaved.

There’s nothing I can do but wait.

I wait until the sun comes up for her and she finally responds. She’s always extra apologetic, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.” And I tell her that it’s fine, that it’s my job to worry about her. That’s what best friends are for.

And I’ve spent my life being a friend, the mom friend usually, but I’ve never truly felt like a best friend. But I know I’m Kelsey’s and she’s mine. And that feels really good. It feels important. So it doesn’t matter that sometimes I can’t reach her. That sometimes I want to tell her something RIGHT NOW but she’s not on her phone. None of it matters because she’s one of the best people I’ll ever know and she’s worth it.

She’s carved out a whole piece of my life for her 4’11 self. There are doodles at my desk, and Polaroid pictures on my walls (because Kelsey owns one of those like the hipster she is), and toys for Dylan in three different toy chests. There are plans for future trips one year, two years, and five years from now.

My friendship with Kelsey is hard, but it’s also the easiest thing I’ve ever done.