i help my best friend move out of the house she grew up in.
i hold her hand as we sit between
long
long
long forgotten soda stains on a polyester carpet
sticky palms from sticky copper coins we found lodged behind a sticky dresser
i tap morse code on the inside of her forearm telling her i hate hate hate that we’re growing older but you’re here to do it with me you’re still here to do it with me do you remember
do you remember us as kids not scared of dying yet only vaguely worried we hadn’t really lived and you were there and i was there
and i’m afraid that’s going to matter until the end of time we mattered so much we matter –
pause.
we wrap up our childhood in paisley patterned paper and balance it on a box of tacky blue ceramic tiles on the way to the landfill. where to carry it? where to carry it? we hold youth in our mouths and it tastes like
lukewarm peach iced tea and it sounds like
your parents’ landline ringing and it feels like
dewy wet backyard trampolines
i hold my best friend’s hand at the kitchen table.
we touch
carrot cake crumbs
on a
chilly cracked cedar countertop
we touch
love split in two
pried open
stuck into the tile joints
i hold my best friend’s hand in an empty bedroom and the window glass is covered in devotion shaped like syrupy fingerprints.
she taps morse code on the inside of my forearm telling me you know somewhere out there this house endures it wraps around every version of us we are playing hopscotch in the driveway and will be for all of time
i help my best friend move out of the house she grew up in.
and i stay.
and her nails dig into my palm.
and they spell out i choose you i choose you i choose
you
this house will collapse knowing all this time ago i chose you
