Mary Carolyn Davies

This Is Friendship


I love you, not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you.

    I love you, not only for what you have made of yourself, but for what you are making of me.

    I love you for the part of me that you bring out.

    I love you for putting your hand into my heaped-up heart and passing over all the frivolous and weak things that you cannot help seeing there, and drawing out into the light all the beautiful, radiant things that no one else has looked quite far enough to find.

    I love you for ignoring the possibilities of the fool in me and for laying firm hold of the possibilities of good in me.

    I love you for closing your eyes to the discords in me, and adding to the music in me by worshipful listening.

    I love you because you are helping me to make of the lumber of my life, not a tavern, but a temple, and of the words of my days, not a reproach, but a song.

    I love you because you have done more than any creed could have done to make me happy.

    You have done it without a touch, without a word, without a sign.

    You have done it by being yourself.

    After all, perhaps this is what being a friend means.