The Prospects Of Love

You at 16

I couldn’t count it on my fingers and toes how much you were to me.

A never-ending waterfall fell from my mouth even at the slightest pin drop of you being around,

And suddenly,

I’m left to wonder where you are in the world.

I don’t know what you’re doing,

Who you’re with

Or what you like anymore.

Truly,

I don’t even know who you are.

If they asked me to tell them who you were I would recount a version from a two months ago.

Sixty days and a new world has passed by and replaced you with a stranger.

Goodbye to the two girls, inseparable, always hip to hip.

We took on each new adventure together.

Rolling ankles on netball courts, silly little passes and snickers.

Needles sewn through fingers, hot glue burns and endless loose threads.

Dancing in living rooms, laughing at the table that broke my toe.

And suddenly,

I can’t breathe.

It’s an onslaught I don’t expect.

I see you once,

Your hair is a new colour.

I see you twice,

And you look just like the little girl I met fourteen years ago.

Your tiny fists have winded me,

Keeled me over and told me to remember.

I scream at her, you, she, you,

“Who do I remember?”

Do I remember two chests heavy with dread,

Illusive freedom at our fingertips

And bitter words on our tongues?

Do I remember soft gentle hands,

Pushing my hair back,

Saying ‘it’s okay’,

Beckoning me to safety,

Calling for hours on end,

The fuzzy yells about expensive phone calls?

Do I remember

You at 6

You at 10

You at 13

You at 16

And then again

You two months ago,

Twenty almost touching your lips.

No more will we see the world from the same lense,

But I’ll always hold two little girls’ hands as I walk across the street.