Ode to Friendship

Two seeds buried
In loamy soil,
Sprouted together
And grew acquainted,
Mainly due to proximity,
But sometimes
The universe gets it right,
Sometimes we’re born
Near the people we need.

With our roots all tangled up,
We grew and flew away
Past oceans and mountains,
Away from the home
People figured was ours,
Because they didn’t recognize
Our independence;
We’re our own people
And we write our own stories.

Yet at the height of spring,
I turn my eyes in your direction,
Because we might be different flowers,
And we might have different stories,
But there’s no childhood scrapbook
Of memories where you’re not there,
Trick or treating on Halloween,
Laid in food induced pain on Thanksgiving,
Or ringing in the New Year with marshmallows.

Different for sure, but not indistinguishable,
Because we’ve seen darkness and fall outs,
Lived through nightmares and trauma,
Heard myths and fables of the way the world works,
And accepted absolutely none of it,
Because they can live in their own world
Of acres of self-proclaimed land
And pristine kitchens cleaned every night
After eating mashed potatoes made from scratch,
And we’ll live in ours full of adventures
They think only exist in storybooks,
Because we didn’t learn how to mourn
The lack of magic in our lives but instead
Learned how to create some of our own.

That’s why worlds and worlds away
I threw my head back in Navarra
And felt the mountain air rejuvenate me,
And you threw your head back in Colorado
And felt the mountain air call you home,
Because we’re not the same but years
Have passed and we still want the same things.

Whether our fingers are stained with chalk or ink,
We both have touched the sky, both literally and not,
And won’t accept the lie that we won’t do it again.

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