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.