How I know.

A little girl with curly hair.

In tears. With fears

like mine, as I’d waited to go into the principal’s office.

Other people’s crimes had brought us to this point in time.

Thirty-five years later, I can see why 

it was one of the defining moments in my life.

We transformed a dusty playground 

into a magical place where treasure could be found.

We sat in a fortress of musty books and learned how to travel the world.

We laughed. We imagined. We dreamed.

We wrote long, long letters during the holidays.

We never ran out of things to say.

I can’t remember the exact day

When I let her down and turned away.

I don’t quite remember why or how but it still shames me now.

I don’t know what happened in that time apart.

I don’t know how deeply I might have hurt her heart.

I only know that one day we were friends again. 

She has never once reminded me of this. 

She has never hurt me back or spoken harsh words. 

She can make me wonder if it ever really happened.  

She transforms a polluted city
into a safe place where comfort can be found.
I sit at her dining table and learn about grace. 

We laugh. We imagine. We dream. 
We Like each other on Facebook. 
We never run out of things to say. 

This is how I know she is my best friend.

(for J, written 30/9/12)