A dictionary of invented words,
A lemonade fanatic,
A crush on a waiter that will never know her name.
Awake two hours later than is good for her,
Five snoozes in the morning,
And more than fashionably late to where she's going.
An attic full of sentiments,
Plans everyone else forgot,
And promises kept only on her end.
A collection of glass bottles,
And memories she never bothered to write down.
Always judging, but always forgiving too,
Because her opinion of me changes, but our friendship doesn't.
Irrational fears that multiply in the dark,
An exasperated sigh when my analogies lose her,
And a smirk when she knows what someone is going to say,
But lets them say it anyway.
Disgusted by the price of gasoline,
Overjoyed about the new sunglasses she just bought,
And suddenly in debt for no reason at all.
Cynical of where she is,
Hopeful about where wants to go,
And oblivious that anywhere else even exists.
Pink and zebra if it is in stock,
"No tomatoes please" even though they'll forget,
And daunted by decisions with more than two choices.
A new haircut that always makes more sense than the last one,
A new charm for her favorite bracelet she never wears,
And a new deadline she's suddenly racing to tomorrow.
The most sincere hello and goodbye I have received,
Phone call I ever answered,
Or novel written into one of my birthday cards.
A brew of weaknesses and virtues,
Of breathless purpose,
And black and white values that 17 years
Still haven't muddied.
We fail to agree on any who, what, when, where, or why,
But we agree on a childhood that means the same to me as it does to her.
Some of the proof lies in birthday cards,
Some, in 8-year-old IOUs that were never thrown away,
And some, in middle school projects
That never would have been completed on time
Without each other's help.
But most of it lies in those memories
She never bothered to write down.