You're meant to be part of my life
I've maybe made a friend.
Such a simple sentence, but one fraught with so many failed attempts to connect with others that the words feel wrong, in my mouth and on paper. It takes more than one Rube Goldberg machine to get anywhere, assuming the damn things don't jam up midway.
She recounted meeting her best friend, spending hours in their dorm, just talking. How she left and immediately had a sense of - oh. Oh, you're meant to be in my life. I'm not sure I've experienced this, or at least not so emphatically and not while in the throes of mania, but. The way she described it, I could feel the love she has for her best friend as deeply as if that love was meant for me.
We've bonded through our current nerdy hyperfixation, found other similar interests and even a similar career path on the side. Maybe silence will overrun us in just a few weeks or months. Maybe this means something to me but nothing to her. Maybe we're more alike than we are different, all the way down, and we'll only know if we dig.
Either way. The Rube Goldberg machines built and kick-started themselves, somehow. Might as well see where they'll take us.