We like to go to the cliff on Fridays
and sit three abreast
Staring out in to the abyss of sea and night and life
Having our thoughts and ideas and plans affirmed by each other
- for each other.
Fuelled by rolled up cigarettes and hope.

We know we are different
Special.
We are best friends.

We don't go to the cliff anymore
Times have changed and we have grown up and we are not as sure that we are as different or as special as we were then.
Maybe we have lost hope
We haven't lost the cigarettes yet.

But we are still best friends, the same but different
Older yet still young in our concepts of each other. Our souls as sisters, still sitting next to each other.

Three abreast. Three best.