They don’t get it. “My voice stuttered on the word ‘friend’, but friend doesn’t cover it. Girlfriend, partner, other half. Neither. I sometimes don’t realise, but I talk about you all the time, often people get that look in their eye and that smirk on their face as if they’re saying “I know what she is to you”. In reality they don’t. They don’t know about the late night messages we send, the hours upon hours we spend on Skype. They don’t know how you make me feel, they don’t know about the butterflies, or the tears or the smiles. Sometimes I wish they did so they ‘d know what I’m feeling. They’re always asking about you but I play it cool. They go home to their boyfriends, their girlfriends at night. I go home alone; with the ache of your existence thousands of miles away in my heart. They don’t get it. They never get it.
She’s the over sized tshirt left under the covers in the morning,
she’s the drop of coffee she claims is “too bitter” that she leaves in the bottom of the mug,
she’s the out of tune string on her old guitar she refuses to fix because it sounds ‘cool’,
she’s the smell of coconut she leaves behind on my sheets,
she’s the open-mouth kiss she leaves on my jaw before falling asleep each night,
she’s the book on the middle shelf that she refuses to finish because she doesn’t ’want it to be over’,
she’s the messy handwritten note reminding me she’s picking up takeout on her way home,
she’s the hair tie I find on my bedroom floor, with the bobby pins that she always seems to lose,
she is all these things, but most of all she’s my light, my best friend, my love.