hi sweetheart -
i just have a few things to tell you
(this won't take long).
first, my shirt
smells of you
because you held me like more-than-friends.
second, i smile for you
because i heard you say "i love you" when i left today
(even though i didn't hear you til i was halfway home).
third, i am happier than i've ever been
because you are something good, finally
and right, finally,
and you make me feel a whole list of ridiculous things:
5 years old, for one thing.
pretty, for another.
off-the-wall and utterly zany, which i always am,
but in a different way
with you.
light-headed
light-hearted
light-everything -
funny and sweet and teasing and teased.
there are more things,
things i do not know the names for,
and which anyway i'm not sure i could say in a poem,
or anywhere else.
you,
my best friend,
who sat patiently through all the ******* and the *******,
the not-worth-my-times and the he's-not-as-interested-in-you-as-you-think,
who listened to me rant like it's my job,
cry like it's my hobby,
and laugh like i'm on narcotics,
you,
are the best
thing
ever.
so one last thing:
i want you to know
(i'm telling you right now)
if you ask me
(and i know
you'll ask me)
don't you dare be scared out of your mind,
like i would be,
and don't you dare pretend not to be,
like you would,
because
i'm going
to say
yes.

look -
i've heard your heartbeat,
i've felt it,
and i know it now.
we are perfect and you know it,
just like i know it,
so let's just stop ******' around
and do something about it already.

you told me -
what did you tell me?
so many things.
you told me
i was your best friend,
which i am.
you told me i'm pretty;
you also told me i'm infuriating,
annoying,
obnoxious,
and weird,
all of which are true.
you told me that i'm a good person,
that i'm not stupid for crying when a girl in our class got cancer,
that i'm smarter than i think.
you told me so many things, and all of them
exactly what i needed.

jesus christ.
you're my best friend.
i know things about you that i
shouldn't want to know about anyone, such as
you fall asleep in the shower
and certain words, like "indubitably", make you twitchy;
you can't sleep unless something near you smells like old spice.
seriously: so many things.
i know your masturbatory habits, for god's sake!
so it shouldn't make sense,
this,
rabid desire of mine,
to know more,
to know everything,
to read you like a book, to know you like i don't know anyone, to absorb every fact of your existence like a sponge, to spend hours hearing your mind, to want everything of you, to share everything of me -
it shouldn't make sense,
and it doesn't.

but i haven't forgotten the way,
how,
in the darkness and the clumsiness
of a tiny space
in the silence after the half-hissed teasing and the muffled laughter,
you wrapped your arms around my waist to steady me,
and kept them there,
there in the dark,
or how,
sitting in the air of your basement,
you held my feet in your lap,
and jokingly gnawed at my toes when i teased you,
or how
you flick your fingers together like you do when you're thinking,
making me fall so in like with your mind,
or when -
well.
there are too many times,
for me to remember.

so it shouldn't make sense,
you ******* badass specimen of best-friendship.
and it doesn't.
but i know,
and you know,
and everyone who knows us knows,

that really, sort of,
it does.