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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
To my friends. I still think of you after a year apart. I hope everything is going well for you all.

Submitted: June 25, 2014

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Submitted: June 25, 2014



When I met you it seemed as though we would be great friends. Those were the years that I cherish to this day. I remember your blonde hair curling up around your glasses, and your crooked smile. I can feel your eyes on me. I can smell my old perfume wafting through those memories. Our group had been the wild children of the puny town we roamed in. We, an island all our own, were untouchable to the outside forces and our own lives.

There were six of us then. We clung together like links in a chain. We uncovered comfort in the company of one another, and there we flourished in those young times. I was divided, and you were conflicted. We all were. We knew that awkward age when you are not old enough to find yourself but are uncomfortable in your skin.

The curiosity inside of our hearts was great those days. We dared to love in new ways. I admit that my reluctance to others held me back here. I am guilty for the parts I played and will be forever. Never-the-less you had yours and I had mine. She loved you and she will to the day she dies. Such is the way with first loves I guess, but I burned that bridge a while ago. In a way so did you.

So here we are. How long has it been since we’ve talked? How long has it been since we’ve talked to anyone? Do we even have that desire anymore? I can’t say I’ve got the answers. You were the wild, she was the spirited, he was the intelligent, he was the funny, she was the timid, and I was the desired. Maybe it’s incorrect, but from the present my memories are so distorted that the labels begin not to matter anyway. I can imagine the others.

Are you like her? She still fights the hard turns with great energy, and lives every day despite her worries and concerns. Her spirit is still her greatest weapon. She will be great one day. Are you like him? He rides at the top of his god given talents until he achieves his dreams. His love remains with him as the years go by, and his heart is filled with emotion.

Perhaps you are like her who is no longer held by shyness. She is a beautiful butterfly burst from a cocoon. I can’t quite put the pieces together for where she may be now but I’m sure she’s living life in the sun. You could be like him; which to me is all things rolled together. My mind is at a loss here, and I have no fancy to change that. Let it be where I fell off. Call it life.

The point is I think of you. I think of all of you in fondness, and wonder. I know where I am, alone in this new puny town. I have new family and new hands to hold. I may never know what happened to the wild child I once was, but I know who I am meant to be. So I write, and I write to you.

How are you wild child? I met someone who reminded me of you the other day. He had your eyes, and a sad story like yours. I edited his music a little bit before I stopped speaking to him. I guess I haven’t changed too much. I wash dishes and count memories. I think of you, and then I relax in my new home with the love of my life. I miss us, but I don’t want to return to those days. It’s a new happiness.

How about you golden child? Does your hair still bounce in warm summer wind? Do you think of me? I know I think about you. Won’t you take care now? There is some crummy writer out there that is thinking of you as a muse. You are an ever living symbol in her words. To the vixen with a soul to free to catch, to the one who made me smile, to the kind hearted doctor-to-be, to the beautiful black haired best friend with a future, to everyone else thank you for your company. Thank you golden child, where ever, whoever you are now, thank you. 

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