For T.
Time-travelled to the mossy green tree stumps of my childhood yesterday, when crunchy leaves, shallow creeks and brisk silence were enough. Pink Converse high-tops, a composition notebook with a yellow #2 pencil, and my best friend were my whole world. It was you and I against everything, sifting through nature for something unassuming yet life-changing; foraging for a single four-leaf clover, planning for eighteen when we were going to move to California together. I knew nothing about life there, just that I’d have you. So what’s the big deal about a cross-country move? Only one year between us but you held the knowledge of many lifetimes in your kid-sized hands. How badly I wanted to be more like you, how badly I still do. Single-digits-years-old, late night watching a movie about a grief-stricken girl. Big, heaving sobs and my small body shaking, you held me with no hesitation until I fell asleep. You didn’t have to ask any questions, you weren’t scared. You sat there with the potent solemnity of someone thrice your age. Twenty years later, words still aren’t so necessary - whatever I feel, whatever I think, you tell me it’s okay and I know that it is. Not a bit of concern because you somehow know that I’ll be okay, long before I ever do. It’s just a moment. It always is. I told you once that you taught me what love is. That still remains true. I love you for always, T. 💜
