They say that when you begin to speak I smile.
They say your eyes search out mine, a secret communicated between just the two of us.
They say we just sort of look right together (though whether this is simply because we are both the same shade of Dulux Pale I do not know).
They say we have so many in-jokes that they must roll their eyes.
They say they do not tease you about this like they tease me.
They say how well I am doing, how this has not fractured this little group of ours.
They say how exciting it seems, watching from the outside-in.
And they say: that they have it all planned out, this inside-out fairytale of ours.
You say the sentence which, unfailingly, will get the biggest laugh.
You say that I am the Princess (and sometimes the pea).
You say that if I get to be Martha Wainwright then you get to be David Bowie.
You say you over-punctuate when nervous and I pretend that I haven't noticed.
You say my name in all its different permutations just because you can.
You say it is a secret that you can tell only me and your excitement is so infectious that it propels me through the week.
You say we have grown closer as I swallow what the cost of this has been.
And you say: awesome, and because it is in your voice I do not mock (much).
I say how much you make me laugh even when I'm determined that you won't.
I say that you're such a boy with your Converses and Pink Floyd hoodie and guitar.
I say that you tick so many of my imaginary boxes that you render me a bit predictable and I should dislike you for this.
I say we can talk about everything, except this.
I say I'm doing just fine, basking in this friendship of ours, even though we all know that for me it is not enough.
I say I need to wait whilst secretly thinking that maybe I can't (and shouldn't).
I say that, regardless, I am still incredibly glad that I met you.
And I say: Happy Valentine's Day, Mr Yellow T-Shirt.