Remembering You


Do you remember me? I’m the girl you swore you’d be friends with till your teeth fall out. When we were little we used to play with twigs and pretend we were taming huge fires. We played with dolls that wore prettier dresses than we did and sang along to every song on the radio our mothers asked as not to listen to.
On your birthday, your father got you a dress so pretty it almost made you cry. And even though he left your mother for a younger woman, you’ve never stopped loving him.
When you were 16 you fell in love with a boy two classes ahead of you so hard, that you skipped all your art classes just to be with him.
And when he left you, you were almost suicidal.
We left school with big hopes; I was going to be do something with my brains and you were going to change the world with your hands.
It’s been 8 years since I last saw you; we’ve grown apart but nothing has changed. Facebook pictures don’t do justice to the pretty woman you’ve grown up to be, and saying “it’s just a change of environment” three times out loud is enough to make me believe my own lie – that you’re not falling apart.
You’re getting married to a man you met seven months ago in two weeks, you swear you love him and you look almost happy so I pretend to believe you.
Late at night I think about you and wonder if you still have those big dreams you used to talk about.
I wonder if you remember me.
I wonder if you remember you.


4 responses to “Remembering You

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