My hand is shaking as I reach over to her, the greatest friend I ever had. We've been friends for years now.

Because of her, I am alive. She saved me countless times, and always from myself. For I am my worst enemy.

Without her, I would be sitting in a bar, my only friend the bottle in front of me. Without her, I would not have the life I have.

I may not have even lived this long.

But I may change all that tonight, with one sentance that I have said before, but now it takes on a different meaning.

'I love you.'

Three simple words, and she knows I do. She doesn't know how much I do, though.

She is simply the best thing in my life, and she knows my flaws; my insecurities. She knows I am not perfect, she can read me like a book. Yet she still calls me her friend, her best friend.

Now that I think about it, we saved each other.

She made me feel loved.

I helped her feel worth something.

We are simply two people who walked into each others lives in our respective moments of darkness and erased each others pain.

Mine; my abuse, my problems of varying degrees, my hatred towards this world and all that dwell in it; all disguised by a mask of smiles and laughter.

Hers; her insecurites, her feelings of remorse, her frantic attempts to fix what she had done to so many people, unknowing of the damage she caused; a minor demon of chaos.

We met at a bar, each of us trying to drown our sorrows.

We talked, and when the bar closed, we went our seperate ways, assuming we would never meet again.

Then I got hired at her company, and we met again.

I don't know when we actually became friends; it just happened. And I loved not knowing how it had happened. Neither of us were exactly normal, it was nice to know that our relationship wasn't either. It made it feel more like us.

We argued, like any other friends did, but we argued about the oddest things.

Whether or not weasels could beat up ferrets.

Whether good and evil existed, or were illusions.

Whether us meeting was coincidence or fate.

We both argued both sides at some point and we changed often. It kept our arguements interesting.

I loved her like a best friend, and that feeling of caring for someone was so new to me, I didn't know what it was. And just when I got a handle on it, it changed.

I loved her more than just a friend, more than just an accomplice in our exploits.

I don't know how to explain it; I am no great master of words. No writer could ever express it through words, and no artist could ever paint it.  A poet got close, once, but he couldn't even get it quite right.

And tonight, I may destroy it all. I may lose the greatest thing to ever happen to me. But the possible benefits outweigh the risk I am taking.

It may work. And even if it doesn't, she deserves to know how much she means to me.

I hope this works...