Dressed As Venus

I do not speak of the love
That star-crossed lovers shared
In Shakespeare’s famous play,
But rather I tell of the love
Between my friends and I.

It is the kind of love that sends us running through the moonlight,
And climbing forbidden rooftops,
And feeling alive
Even when we’re close to the end.
It’s the kind of connection that lets me know what they’re thinking
Even when I can’t see them.
It’s the type of bond that lets us sit in silence
Or cry
Or dance
Or laugh
Or say
Exactly what we mean.
The friends that ride four on a tandem bike
and nearly die trying,
The same that picnic on neighbor’s lawns
Or write messages from mars, dressed as Venus.
The friends with whom I’ve made stupid mistakes,
And cried with
And cooked with
And almost destroyed kitchens with.
We have sold flowers together,
We have swum in algae-infested ponds
And shared the scandals of our souls.
We have gone to school together (or not),
We have bungee-jumped,
And we have spent more time together than with any of our Romeos.
These friends have seen me at my worse
And at my best
And are the ones with whom I’ve shared journals
and secrets
and goals
and fears
and first experiences.
The sister who has known me thirteen years,
The one who’s only known me two,
And all the many ones in between:
They are me, complete.

I do not speak of the love
That remote star-crossed lovers shared
In Shakespeare’s famous play,
But rather I tell of the love
Between my friends and I,
And your friends and you:
This love we have all experienced.