Dear Wigleaf,

There is something perfect about the number three. The Weird Sisters of Macbeth, the Three Musketeers, the stars in Orion's belt. When I was in college, I was part of a trio of friends who sneaked into the ruins of an old cotton mill together. We drove hours to the nearest Waffle House across state lines. We staged a play in a snowy graveyard at night. When a hurricane flooded the river and knocked out power in our dorms, we cooked French toast over a charcoal grill and ran, heedless, around fallen trees. We were kids playing a game of The End of the World.

I have two friends now who picked me up from the hospital after I crashed my bike, broke my arm, and was a mess of road rash and stitches. They bought me a pint of chocolate-caramel-cookie dough ice cream, helped me get undressed from my bloody clothes, and slept on the couch in case I had a concussion. Since then, we've moved to opposite sides of the country and haven't all been in the same place for years. But the three of us talk every day, and we tell each other "I love you" on a regular basis. I used to be too scared to say it to my friends. I've spent a lot of time afraid of being too much and yet somehow not enough. Now that The End of the World feels less like a game, I'm done being ruled by fear.

Love,
Liz