run away with me (not like that)

you say you want to be more than friends

as if what we are is not enough to satiate

your desire to place your searing lips

on every inch of my skin

as if the bracelets i make you

with delicate hands that want nothing

more than to tie the string around your

wrists aren’t enough for you

aren’t enough to make you

want to stay even if

i don't want to latch my

mouth onto yours

like my life depends on it

or trail my fingers

over every groove on your spine

and curve on your hips

and i know that when your

chapped lips mouth

iloveyou

in the middle of the night

from across the space between

our hands too cold or maybe

just too scared to hold

that you mean iloveyou

in the way people standing

on altars and twirling through

an endless expanse of time spent together

mean it but

the only love i’ve ever known

wasn’t the kind

all the lyrics are written about

it wasn’t making out at the back of a movie theater;

tongues fighting for space in my mouth

and it wasn’t scaling a building

to make love under the stars

or escaping in the dead of night,

a getaway born from infatuation or maybe just stupidity

no, the love i knew was delicately

brushing hair into ponytails

and carefully spreading peanut butter

on sandwiches

the love i know is wild looks

that are the catalyst

to the next dance party or baking escapade

and i think every day that

this is the love i want

because there is not enough room in my heart

for the kind full of passion and aggressivity, the

kind of love that seems to be your only desire.

trust me, i have been where you are,

confused as to why my best friend cannot feel

the same way they told me they did,

six months slaughtered in the name of a swallowed lie.

and maybe one day i will understand that love

does not always mean “in love”

[i am sure i will feel betrayed]

but still.

you cannot mean “i love you” the way i mean it

when i text it to you

every night, this time my

heart beating with an ache for

the kind of

love that isn’t made for movie screens

but rather for just us two

running away to a cottage

in the woods where we can live

without ever having to worry

about being

more than friends

Jillian Thomas

JILLIAN THOMAS (she/her) is a 17-year-old poet from Pennsylvania who writes about mental health and outer space. She is published or forthcoming in Zhagaram Lit, Mollusk Lit, Footprints on Jupiter, Levitate, and more. In her free time she runs a litmag and listens to the Hamilton soundtrack.

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LETTERS TO A FRIEND