photo: T. Krever
She has always shared room with me.
Like the one that summer when we were maybe 14 or 16, that summer at the new age community we were part of for years and years and years, it had the perfect bed and we'd say "Good Night!" and open our eyes again and it was morning.
Like our first apartment together, the one I still live in today, but then only kids, 17 or 19, there were roaches, tranny hookers, lots of diners, watching her do her morning exercises, friends visiting all the time, going to rock places or clothing stores now written up in history books....
Like in between and forever after, the words that flow out of secrets admitted or feelings spoken out loud, the attempts at love, the failures of dreams, the refusing to give up, finding our soulmates, the possibilities before us...
Whenever we speak, the rare moments of seeing her face, she is still maybe 14 or 16, or 17 or 19 or just our secrets admitted or our dreams still embrace, all my heart sees is its DNA and remembers its home.
2 comments:
Beautifully told.
Friendships like this are gems. They don't grow on trees.
You still live in the same apt?
Xxoo ruthie
Still the same place. Come visit!
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