I don't remember when you and I first met,

I don't even recall when we became friends,

but we did. 

It started as a mutual love,

for a tv show, of course. 

Responding to questions in quotes and inside jokes,

constantly bringing up pineapples,

the phrase, "I'm not inclined to resign to maturity,"

defining our summers. 

Then you began writing poetry for me.

About your future daughter,

about being gorgeous (what a burden that was),

and about a girl. 

I asked you once, 

"Who are these poems about?" 

Because whoever she was, I thought, 

was one lucky gal. 

You replied, 

"Well... She's inspired ones you haven't read yet."

I dropped the subject in frustration. 

Then I realized, 

I had wanted you to say, "You."

A year passed. 

Then two. 

We were still each other's confidantes,

even though you were three hours away. 

We grew apart in some ways, 

but together in others. 

College does that to people. 

One summer, 

we expressed our mutual affection for not a tv show, 

but for each other. 

Then it fell apart. 

The next summer,

it happened again. 

But this time, 

we slowed down,

it wasn't a rush of built-up emotions,

it was a slow and steady stream of disgustingly cute texts,

secretive touches,

and then again, 

it fell apart. 

Now, 

we are friends again. 

I'm not sure what will happen,

that's for the future to know. 

But I do know,

that you taught me what love is. 

Love is getting a text from you, 

saying, "How do you like your eggs?"

As if you feel my questioning gaze,

you quickly send,

"Because someday, I'd like you to wake up to me making them for you,"

Love is sitting in the back of your car in your arms in silence,

because that is simply enough. 

Love is our plan to make a pillow fort and watch Disney movies for a date,

because expensive dinners are much less satisfying than pillow fights and each other. 

Love is your laugh,

your confidence,

everything about you. 

Love is feeling like you're enough, 

and when I'm with you, 

I feel love. 

 

b