We were small enough
to believe the world began
at the edge of our streets
and ended where the streetlights buzzed on.
Back when summer clung to our skin,
and our only responsibility
was to be home
“before it got dark.”
We were architects of chaos,
professionals in harmless shenanigans,
masters of the late nights,
conspirators in revolutions at Little Africa,
fueled by courage and nerve.
We swore we’d never change.
Swore we’d live near each other forever.
Swore we’d stay exactly as we were,
grass-stained, loud,
half-feral and fearless.
::then we changed::
There were seasons
when we didn’t speak.
Weeks that turned into months.
Silences that felt too heavy
for two kids who once shared
every secret like it was oxygen.
We grew sharp in places.
Proud in places.
Hurt in places
we didn’t yet know how to name.
But even in the silence,
even in the not-speaking,
you were stitched into my story.
A permanent chapter
no distance could edit out.
Because childhood friends
aren’t just people.
They’re witnesses.
To who we were
before the world rearranged us.
Before we learned caution.
Before we learned goodbye.
We’ve been reckless together.
We’ve been silent together.
We’ve been strangers for a while,
and somehow still know
exactly how the other takes their coffee.
Time did what time does.
It stretched us.
Bent us.
Pulled us into separate skies.
But somewhere beneath the years,
beneath the pride and the pauses,
there’s still that old current,
that knowing look,
that familiar laugh,
that shared history humming
just under the surface.
And when we found ourselves
back in the same town,
under that same fading light,
It didn't take long,
::one grin::
::one memory::
::one reckless idea::
And we were right back
in the middle of it,
causing just enough trouble
to feel alive again.