when i was a young, young girl,
i played with this boy.
he lived next door
(cliche as that might be, it's true)
he had brown skin,
and cropped curly hair.
the boy had a sweet disposition,
quick to forgive,
and quick to find retribution.
he was a bit mischievous,
he used to be my best friend.
we would play in my backyard together,
holding hands as we braved the trecherous 'forest'
-it was really just a rather large bush next to the fence-
and leapt across huge chasms
-which was actually the space between these big rocks.
now, he's a stranger.
the boy has grown into a teenager,
one with a dog
who plays soccer
and has his own life.
what would he want to do
with a heavyset writer?
i can answer that one for you:
he would want nothing to do with me.
it's not that i find him cute or anything,
i just... i want what we had as kids.
when skin color or gender had nothing to do
with who you could be friends with.
when you could dream.
as a kid, you can dream.
you can dream of friendships long lost.