I’m about to collapse when she asks

if she can hold my hand and acts like

it’s for her sake and not mine

and her eyes her eyes her eyes

they’re the colour of warmth and

the streets on a peaceful rainy night.

When people talk about love

they say it feels like falling or

butterflies in your stomach, but forget

to mention it feels like

your best friend’s hug after

years apart or laughing that

she’s finally taller than you

at fifteen.

And I know I’m supposed to be

writing poetry for some boy

I should be in love with and

not for a girl who cried when

I had to get my knees stitched

after I fell off a ledge.

But we live in a world where there

are too many poems about romance

and not enough about friendship.