• I dreampt of you,
    my old friend.
    Wherever you are, I'm thinking of you.
    We walked hand in hand, and I had my head on your shoulder,
    the first time I considered how it would feel.
    You were my friend,
    so long ago,
    when I had none.
    I remember the playground,
    when we made up games and stories.
    There was a big, big pine tree
    where we would walk around.
    There were dragons, and robots, and secret bases.
    We killed all the bad guys side by side.
    All those books I read found their way in somehow,
    always.
    You played along though you had no clue about them.
    But you listened.
    I know you did.
    You were the only one who knew what it was I really wanted.
    And I keep those gifts close, even still.
    I remember the park bench by the blacktop.
    Where the lovely blue spring flowers grew.
    I would pick them for my teachers while we talked.
    I loved those flowers,
    and the purple ones too,
    the ones with the sweet nectar we would suck on.
    But those looks.
    You know the ones.
    From the chatting girls, and the boys playing sports.
    They acted as though we were something disgusting.
    To be laughed at.
    Though I never once returned the glance,
    though WE had never done them wrong,
    they would treat us like s**t.
    I sometimes wished,
    and I sometimes thought,
    maybe if I changed myself,
    if I stopped hanging out with you, maybe I could be with them.
    Like being at the source of the river,
    where its calm,
    as opposed to being beaten against the rocks.
    Nevertheless,
    every single day, I met you on the blacktop,
    or when the boys playing sports decided to chase us off
    (I still grit my teeth and think of new retorts even to this day)
    by the bench,
    or by the tree.
    And I always dreamed of how I would show all those girls with their obvious sideways glances,
    or those boys with their rolled eyes.
    I dreamed of horrible creatures, and villains,
    I pictured them clearly rushing down the hallways, I saw how their claws and wings would grind on the gringy white stone,
    how thier flames would melt the paint,
    I saw the windows breaking, the glass shattering against them all,
    and blood,
    and screams,
    and you and I.
    We would stand up, and tell them to leave.
    I saw myself, strong and defiant.
    I saw their looks of surprise, and apology.
    And I saw myself clearly ignoring them as I stood up and walked out the door.
    I strode past all the teachers, and past all the people I hated.
    I left them all behind.
    And you and I, we went to that place we made up.
    Where I had drawn those maps and pictures,
    that place where it all existed.
    We were heroes there.
    But you know,
    things like that,
    they just don't ever happen.
    I learned as time moved on.
    We split paths, as we grew up.
    Our meetings slowed to seeing each other on birthdays.
    I remember, your birthday was in February.
    (Please feel special, I can't remember birthdays of people I saw yesterday.)
    Our parents tried to keep us together,
    but it just faded.
    And the last time I saw you,
    in chill winter.
    That old museum,
    we looked at old airplanes, and ate pizza,
    and you bought me a dragon tattoo, from a ripoff machine that ate my last quarter.
    And then I moved,
    a few months later.
    I never saw you again.
    But last night,
    years later,
    I dreamed of you, my dear old friend.
    It was strange.
    I saw you with another girl,
    and it hurt, and I was confused as to why.
    But you turned to me.
    We held hands, and sat on a park bench.
    I had my head on your shoulder.
    You were warm,
    and your jacket was soft.
    My oldest friend,
    I still remember the day we met,
    and the day we parted,
    I hope,
    and I wish
    that you think of me,
    and I think of you,
    and that one more time,
    we can cross paths.