Ⓟⓞⓔⓣⓡⓨ | a collection by Fay ©

Preferences

I like my coffee strong or with oat milk, my toast on the crunchy side and my mornings sunny.

My sage tea I prefer with honey, my embraces long, the summer dresses I want flowy, my hair curled and combed.

My cookies have to be with triple chocolate and my casserole with cheese,

The countless flowers on the grass in my yard with bees.

I like my family whole and happy, my friends never sappy and my phone calls deep.

I like my one friend more than the other, and perhaps I'm stupid

Because I should be fucking grateful that Cupid - as clumsy as he might be - has shot his friendship arrow through us both.

Maybe our friendship never was an oath, I did have one with the first and she is never a bother when I hang out with her.

Yet with the other, I feel like a grease stain on glasses or a scratch on a favourite plate - no, I doubt that there is hate, yet I feel like I force her to spend time with me when I can tell she would rather be with others.

I prefer my colors to be bright and my clothes to stand out on sight.

I prefer friends that I don't have to hide

Details from that could possibly hurt from the start.

And I like low-maintenance friendships where I can check in every now and then and we continue like we never spend time apart.

My friends are happy, so I should be happy too,

Yet I feel like one keeps a mental list of the times I started to pick up conversation and When she had to.

My family is whole and hers isn't and I fear that she'd one day decide to leave me for the better - I already planned out every word of my apology letter, things I never did that I apologized for.

"Am I not lovable, am I hard to love?" - "No" is both their retort, yet I know only one says it without a second thought.

She's my safe haven, my escape, the other is my gossip maiden, my laughter of the week.

Yet I always catch myself that I seek comfort in one more than the other.

"If I needed a donor, would you donate?" Yes, without a doubt, I'd rather rip out

My own heart with my cold hands than even spend a thought about

Myself.

If I were to ask that in return, I'd only know one person who would sacrifice themselves

For my own well-being and health.

Does the other ever miss me? I reach out to her and our conversation is short-lasted

Yet we talk and laugh like real friends.

So I always wonder if it's normal that I therefore still have

A preference.