Bubble gum and vanilla perfume is what I thought of when I dreamed about girls.
When I imagined myself with my own girl gang. Like in the movies.
Heart shaped sunglasses and matching bikinis.

It is so much better than that.

It is spilled wine and ripped jeans.
Laughter that makes your ears ring and smiles that ache by the end of the night.
She’s rubbing the ashes she spilled into my comforter, and I don’t even care.
She’s drinking a ***** soda out of a mug and stealing a pair of my sweatpants.
She’s teaching me how to properly curl my hair.

Every boy is unworthy.
She gets more beautiful with each passing day.
Intricacies buried deep inside her.
Little pieces of her uncovered bit by bit.

She paints.
She writes poetry.
She has a green thumb.
She likes her coffee black with a pinch of cinnamon.
She prefers foggy weather to sunny.
She loves foreign films.

Only friends who love deeply can fight so harshly.
Only girls who know each other inside and out can wreak such havoc with their words.
Roots tangled together beneath the ground.
Howls that harmonize under the light of the moon.

When I imagined myself with my own girl gang I didn’t realize it’d be a pack of wolves, starving for life and love.