Sitting at LAX airport, a city where I onced lived for seven years, I feel disconnected. It’s as if I never lived here. I never lived that crazy lesbian life so long ago.The bars, dancing, L word parties, bbqs all erased from my memory. The butch, the bootie call, the dirty talker. These are the women I dated.ah the thirties…good times. The butch one only lasted for four months. Been there, done that. 

Numb. Nothing. 

I feel more of a connection to London, Bangkok, Laos or even Seattle. 

However, my new place is Melbourne, Australia. The main reason being my bestie lives there. Don’t get me wrong, I have about four besties but this one is special.I have never had just one best friend. I usually don’t have any close friends, who live in the city I am in. 

She’s like the other half of me. We like the same music, movies, food and clothes but due to her amazingly slim body, I can’t wear half the stuff she wears. The way she dresses looks effortless. I hate the word magical but it appears magical. Just flawless.

She’s way more sophisticated than me. Smart, witty, up and strong. I thought I almost lost her last year when she got cancer. I worried everyday. Messaged her. She lives on the otherside of the globe…people. I told her if things got bad, I would be there. And I would. When I have friends in which I’ve met in a unique way and we had a connection, I am loyal.
Just for the record, I loathe that word connection. My ex used it too freely then we lost ours. 

I digress. 

So.. To meet a girl in Asia at a jazz club, drink Chang to avoid the heat during a country wide curfew and still laugh at the chaos around us, is my kind of best friend. The kind I’d call if I was trapped in a prison. Stranded in country. In love with a country. 

There is no better cure. 

For two weeks I laughed, smiled, hugged her close and felt complete. She’s my rock. My gal. My strength. My mate. My warrior.

 As long as she keeps fighting I will always have her back and when she grows tired… I will build her up. 

No better.

Cure.