Yellow

I have always known friendships to be yellow. 

Yellow like the soft sun,

sifting through the panes of a window, 

falling onto your face as you walk past them.

Yellow like the moon in Van Gogh's Starry Night, 

like his madness and his love intertwined.

Yellow like a field of sunflowers that just bloomed.

(And bloomed again as you heard this sentence. 

And again as you heard this one.)

The yellow which you fall back to 

and the yellow which falls back to you.

I have known friendships that feel like home;

that feel like that moment when you step inside your house after being away way too long, 

knowing that you never really missed home so much,

but also knowing that you probably missed it the most.

I have known friendships that are like knowing sighs,

exchanged under a weighted breath while giving side-eyes.

The relieved sigh that leaves you when you crawl into your own bed,

and that irreplaceable sigh of a hot shower after a cold dread.

I have known friendships that feel like unplanned afternoon naps,

that feel like finding new favorites and never having to let go of them,

that feel like love on your darkest days 

and love on your brightest.

I have known friendships that haven't picked up the phone in a second,

that have been lost and found and  then lost again,

that have complained and cried and reconciled every now and then,

that can still be trusted enough to blindly keep my trust in them.

I have known friendships that put shame to therapy pets,

which make you feel like you ate the yellow that Van Gogh said,

which comfort you with a familiarity your own mother never shed,

which would happily open the Pandora box if you said.

I have known friendships that do not taunt or scream or compete,

that do not hide behind egos or small ruffled leaves,

that do not put a full stop before your love even reaches them,

that talk and cry and sometimes hold hands.

I have known friendships which don't sound like my mother or father reprimanding,

which don't make me feel like I am in a trauma of my own making,

which don't make me question your every intention,

which don't make me pull back and pull my love in.

I have known friendships which are yellow,

in and out and again;

which are loving and caring and demanding,

which would give up the whole world for my stupid tantrums,

which make me cry even when I just think about them.

I have know friendships which have been better than them

I have known friendships, but maybe, just maybe, you haven't known them.