They hold me tight with their words first. They learn how many voices I have, how long I linger in silence when I'm unsure of what is next, that particular look on my face when the boy has said "no" or the singleness has become hard or the workload too much. They know the other looks, of joy bubbling over and laughter from my toes to my hair spilling in every direction.
They challenge me. They push to discover why, to explore the caverns in my heart and to listen for the echoes of their own. They hold my heart in their heart. They pick up the pieces when some things break and they laugh with me and delight with me when things become whole again.
These people, who come out from their corners of the world - from the ones on 8th St at Family Night Dinner, to the ones in this Bromley apartment, to the ones who cup mugs of chai with me at the Atomic, to the ones who watch all the best gangster movies with me, to the ones who laugh at my stupid jokes, to the ones who just tell me - "Hilary, I love you."
These are the wondrous people who draw the constellations of stars in my life. These are the people who whisper to me about the greatness, and the goodness. These are the people who, though I quiver and shake, tell me that I will be a writer and a blogger and that the dreams I dream and worth chasing.
And then we hold out our hands, full of our young blossoming life, and take off running towards the future, knowing that we hold each other. That we carry our hearts together.