Saturday, April 24, 2010

"They have an entire history," she says,
"And you'll make your own." the best friend replies.
"But there's so much of it, so much of it."

Dear Bird,
I miss you.
I feel like calling you and keeping quiet on the phone while we listen to the sound of each other's typing. While we listen to the sound of us typing to each other on MSN, sometimes.
I feel like being eleven years old again, and sitting at the grandstand with you during recess. And just sitting there, in impossibly comfortable silence- especially for eleven year olds,
and staring out at the field.
At the random girls running, at the ones on the monkey bars, at the girls jumping up and down the steps.
Until the school bell rings and that demonic circus tune plays over the speakers and we find that we have to trudge back and assemble.

Because some of the best conversations I've ever had in my life, have been with you, when we weren't even saying a single thing.


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