A letter to a friend

on platonic love, sharing music, and living together.

Written for Avery.

I’m sitting across from you in this little coffee shop,

our favorite in the city.

You’re sipping your latte

And I am telling you I think that I write about love too often—

much too often,

as if the word love can carry the weight

of everything I’ve never quite said.

You tell me to find another muse,

and with a laugh,

I decide to try—

so this poem is for you:

my roommate,

my friend,

my lifeline.

The day that you walked into our shoebox-sized dorm room,

guitar in one hand,

a Joan Didion novel in the other,

I swear the stars aligned,

like I was meeting someone who

spoke the same language as my soul.

There was no hesitation,

no time wasted in trying to understand one another—

we simply were.

You give me one of your AirPods

and I give you a smile.

We share songs the way others share secrets.

There is something so intimate about

hearing the same thing at the same time,

ears and hearts in unison.

The rhythm of the music becomes our shared pulse,

and the lyrics become our quiet confessionals.

Music is a love language,

one we speak fluently

and exercise perpetually,

even when the world is too loud to listen.

We share our favorite songs,

those hidden, secret tracks,

the ones that feel like pieces of our minds and souls

we’re not ready to let others touch.

Even when we are home for the holidays,

and we don’t text often,

we still send each other songs—

lyrics that remind us of each other,

the words blending into something like “I miss you.”

Spending time together has become habitual, now,

effortless in its familiarity.

Mornings are soft and slow,

the world still half-asleep as we get ready.

We dance around each other in quiet rhythm,

you pouring two cups of coffee,

one for each of us,

and me reaching for the cinnamon-flavored creamer

that has become as much part of this routine

as our laughter filling the air.

Our individual lives stay intertwined,

as we ebb and flow apart and together throughout the day.

Afternoons are spent on the beach,

the sand slipping through our toes as we talk about

everything and nothing.

Nights are spent laying on the floor of our dorm,

an Elliott Smith song we both love drifting from the speaker as

the hours between us stretch like something sweet and simple,

true friendship.

You make me feel a little less insane—

Or you show me that my insanity is lovable too.

We discuss love more often than not;

The passion,

the obsession,

the way it pulls us in and never lets us go.

In the aftermath of a breakup,

you text me this:

“Never feel bad for having strong feelings for someone.”

You tell me it’s okay to love with my whole heart,

that there’s nothing wrong with giving it all,

even when the world tells us we should hold back.

You, with your endless library of thoughts,

the way you speak in quiet tones,

but always with a conviction that makes me listen

like you’re unraveling the universe piece by piece.

I’ve never met anyone else

who can make a random Tuesday feel like the best day I’ve had—

but you do that.

With your gentle curiosity,

with the way you walk through life,

helping me find meaning in the smallest moments.

You are not another person

that I have to hold onto with clenched fists,

crescent moons in my palms from grasping too tightly.

You are someone who will stay with me,

in songs, in moments,

in a kind of quiet understanding

that doesn’t fade with time.

Thank you.