Serena Friendship means not having to scroll through my contacts list because your name is already at the top of recently called.
It means going through each other’s day, wanting to hear the smallest details. How big were the pieces of oreo in your ice cream?
Does watermelon taste better in triangles or rectangles? I want to memorize your anomalies and collect them like points to a game of trivia.
Your eyes are the shade of my watercolor paintbrush, pooling into tidal waves.
We should go to an art museum together. We make plans for trips we know we’ll never take.
I’m hiking on the beach, eating at a sushi bar, sitting on a park bench, and you’re there, laughter sprinkling down like leaves. It was a five-minute Uber line conversation, yet I have never met someone so much like me.
I want to tape you in between the spaces of what is happening and what I want to happen next. I have the urge to fit your name into every sentence.
It’s 2am and I lean forward in a cheap plastic chair, hand gestures frantic, homework abandoned, because I have to finish telling you the story of how I walked into the men’s bathroom by accident. You almost die laughing.
Why did I have to meet you? When will you get tired of me?
You realize “Serena” is only two letters away from “Serenade” and a playlist now carries my name. What do I mean to you? Spotify says my “Recently Listened To” artists are all yours.
On a cold windy morning, my cheeks warm every time I get a message, even if it’s just your reaction of a strawberry to my late night text of “byeee”.
Waking up to say good morning, but it’s three hours before your sun rises. I can only reach as far as your smooth gray headphones, and it’s never enough.
You tell me about the best spot to go strawberry picking. It’s right near the beach and most importantly, there are no bugs. You’ve never brought anyone but you’ll bring me.
It’s late. I watch you through the screen, and I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.
You want to learn how to ballroom dance, you like duos, you explain. I’ve never watched Transformers. You’ve only watched Ponyo. We should watch them together! I look good in red. Fit check? Fire.
Four voice messages. Something to listen to when you get off the plane, you say in my ear.
I sit there at baggage check with a stupid grin on my face.
