my best friend and i’s ex-best friend

could it count as a first kiss if it was

through your hands? lips pressed

against knuckles, palm pressed

against palm.

could it count as a wedding if we

eloped in the mall,

exchanged necklaces in the back of claire’s, lifted up

hair, fiddled with the clasp?

on the pavement still holding the skin of my knees, three little

“girls” held hands,

left no room for jesus in the space between girl and friend, innocent catholic

school play pretend.

the school bus still passes the neighbour she said

she’d kissed during a fever,

and when someone else said she was their best friend, isn’t it

normal to find you resented them?

could it count as a crush if you

would have died for her? maybe it’s

why part of us did when she found

better friends.

what on earth did she do with with

the B, the E,

the F R I E?

a pair of necklaces that won’t ever

make a full statement again, tossed

somewhere half-heartedly, i think she

forgot the S T,

the N D S is with me.

if we remembered her number,

we’d unblock it. what’s her insta?

might lowkey stalk it.

what’s she up to? besides being

a tarnished stainless steel memory,

a latent gay epiphany,

a queer theory debate subject,

a girl we’d want to kiss without covering hands,

and my best friend and i’s ex-best friend.

Frances (she/her), A.K.A Sam Mercy perhaps, is a proficiency collector: nocturnal poet, storycrafter in her dreams, obsessive photographer, wannabe artist, and professional sentence runner-on-er. You can catch her daydreaming about how much angst she can fit in her new D&D character on the Lakeshore West line, or @samfrances.co on Instagram.