Issue 22 – The Friendship SOS
Or: Maybe “Let’s Get Coffee Soon” Is a Love Language After All.
I couldn’t help but wonder…
When did friendship become the biggest love story we forget to nurture?
Because lately, it feels like we’re all trying to hold our lives together with iced matcha, Google Calendar alerts, and the hope that someone — anyone — will text first. We’re adults now (apparently), and apparently that means friendships require strategy, scheduling, and a stamina I normally reserve for sample sales.
In the queer community, it’s even trickier.
Apps are loaded with ulterior motives. Group chats are chaotic. Everyone’s “around this week” until, suddenly, they’re not. Making a new friend sometimes feels more intimate than dating, and somehow much scarier.
But here’s what I keep coming back to: sometimes “Fancy a coffee?” isn’t casual. Sometimes it’s a little SOS wrapped in a latte.
A soft plea that means:
“I need someone today.”
“I miss being seen.”
“Please let this city feel smaller for an hour.”
“I don’t want to do life alone — even just for this afternoon.”
The truth is, adult life exhausts us. We’re burnt out from Monday to Friday, then spent the weekend recovering from the burnout. The diaries never align. The energy dips. Suddenly that simple “Let’s go to that new exhibition!” becomes a logistical puzzle worthy of MI6.
But then — when we actually go? Magic. The kind of connection that reminds you you’re not just a corporate husk with a loyalty card. A laugh that shakes something loose in your chest. A walk home that feels lighter, in that “romanticising my life” kind of way Carrie Bradshaw would absolutely approve of.
And maybe that’s the thing: friendships in this chapter aren’t effortless. They’re intentional. Chosen. Protected. They’re quieter than romantic love, but just as necessary — maybe more.
Not all my loves live in the city. Some are scattered across postcodes, train lines, and group chats that should honestly win awards for Best Ensemble Cast. But the ones who are here? They’re the ones who make London softer. The ones I want to show up for — even when the burnout hits, even when the sofa calls, even when I feel like the human version of a low-battery warning.
Because maybe the point isn’t waiting for a big moment. Maybe it’s making the small moments feel big. The coffee dates, the market strolls, the “come over and sit on my sofa while we talk nonsense” evenings. The quiet acts of love we don’t call love because they don’t come with flowers or fancy dinners.
So I’m learning to say yes more. To nudge back. To show up — imperfectly, honestly, and sometimes ten minutes late with a banana bread matcha in hand.
Because someone might really need that hour. And — if I’m honest — so might I.
And just like that… connection wasn’t something I hoped for anymore. It was something I chose.