Over oatmeal with peanut butter breakfasts come profound talks spanning life, and love, and the importance of knowing your own worth. With her diving deep comes easily, instinctively. No walls are up, they couldn’t be. They don’t exist.
With her there’s no busy or stressed, and definitely no knee-jerk I’m fine’s. And like that you're you, but more of it. Past and present "you" necessarily collide, and she is a mirror, reflecting your current state, your happiness and imbalances.
She just gets you, and although she’s known you forever, she doesn’t see you as a static memory. She wouldn’t want to. She delights in your evolution, your little alterations.
Yet she reminds you: of all the people you both know, or knew, of all the things that changed you. That your past doesn't define your future, but still is nice to carry with you. That sometimes all you need is singing in the streets, and smiling at strangers can be empowering. That the people you love the most are worth your time and attention.
With her all of the annoying adult labels we stick to ourselves slide off and away instantly. She knew you in your tan, young summers. She still sees you in your high school uniform; you know her as the girl people clamored to talk to in the hallways.
When reunited you glimpse the innate habits and viewpoints that designate your most enduring self. Yet equally she inspires hope for the future and potential you. After all, she’s the one who first taught you change is possible. She’ll look back with you, while making sure you see all the good that's yet to come.
That’s the thing about old, best friends. They see the brightness permeating your future, even when you can’t see it yourself. They believe in you. And what a beautiful thing to utilize, that one day you, too, might come to realize the radiant person that they already know you to be.
With her there’s no busy or stressed, and definitely no knee-jerk I’m fine’s. And like that you're you, but more of it. Past and present "you" necessarily collide, and she is a mirror, reflecting your current state, your happiness and imbalances.
She just gets you, and although she’s known you forever, she doesn’t see you as a static memory. She wouldn’t want to. She delights in your evolution, your little alterations.
Yet she reminds you: of all the people you both know, or knew, of all the things that changed you. That your past doesn't define your future, but still is nice to carry with you. That sometimes all you need is singing in the streets, and smiling at strangers can be empowering. That the people you love the most are worth your time and attention.
With her all of the annoying adult labels we stick to ourselves slide off and away instantly. She knew you in your tan, young summers. She still sees you in your high school uniform; you know her as the girl people clamored to talk to in the hallways.
When reunited you glimpse the innate habits and viewpoints that designate your most enduring self. Yet equally she inspires hope for the future and potential you. After all, she’s the one who first taught you change is possible. She’ll look back with you, while making sure you see all the good that's yet to come.
That’s the thing about old, best friends. They see the brightness permeating your future, even when you can’t see it yourself. They believe in you. And what a beautiful thing to utilize, that one day you, too, might come to realize the radiant person that they already know you to be.