26.07.23, or to treasuring and being treasured in equal forms
I've learned that friendship tastes like going for random groceries my mom assigned me to get, and picking cafés by the shape of their teacups (you think I'd like the hearts, and you're right). And it won't kiss you on the mouth, but it will intertwine drunken limbs around your shoulders and whisper "you're my favorite of favorites" - and in nights like this, my mouth goes numb. I need nothing else.
It tastes like girls who fill up notebooks with stickers and boys who lend me pens to write on homeburned CDs with bands we picked together. and I can never drift off to sleep in your bed, but you know just what to put on the TV to warm me by - that godforsaken annoying reality show we hate to like.
It tastes like growing up to the same movies and "I wish I knew you back then". And you've become a tea-drinker, but I hate the smell of peppermint; I drink too much coffee and you don't understand how I don't sugar it - but we're both matching socks by the end of the day. It's silly, tiny little things like that.
It tastes the bitter taste of writing your ex a song, because I'll never hate no one like I hate him, and the overly-sweetness of the picture I found on that memory box, with the rusty swingset and your thick purple glasses. You looked prettier than you'll ever know.
You've seen me cry more than my father has, and you saw his image fade from faraway sacrifice to a crumpled piece of paper on my drawer and let me mourn it when I needed. And you know my brother and you buy him a necklace 'cause you think he might like it, and it's simple, it's small, and you've nailed it again, and he loves you through his teenager grumpiness.
And I love you, how I do. In white lilies more than red roses, but they'll outlive wedding bouquets every single time. And I'll be there, too, for fading fathers and grumpy brothers, if so you wish. I hope you do.