We don’t have an origin
story, for we met before
memories form. Two little girls
living across a curved court
named after a man. Pigtailed
dancing dolls, we played through
seasons until one day you
moved and I learned heart-
break. Although I saw your
plane fly away, I looked
in all our hiding places
for you. I’ve never stopped
looking. Time has brought us
together over and over—but
we always lose each other
in the mess. Will this
time be different? I need
it to be. You see,
I’m tired of playing pretend—
saying I’m okay when broken
bits of me want only
to be seen. You hugged
me tighter this time—do
you need me too? Can
we take off our masks
and find our old hiding
places again? Can we swim
together in secrets and show
each other the magical ways
we have survived? Grab my
hand yet again and let’s
run toward the setting sun
together.
*This was written after seeing my childhood friend at a funeral last weekend and never wanting to let her go. Thank you for making sure we made a date to get together. I can’t wait.
Bridgette Tales 