We dressed in knee length skirts,
Rain boots covering black tights,
And though I haven't seen her since London,
We ran out onto New York streets.

"Now I see why people do this," she laughed,
"We're bound to get lost."

But I didn't say anything,
Feeling the pressure from her linked arm,
Little girls gone out to play.

We lingered down the busy streets,
Sweet chatter filling the air,
Until we walked up to our childhood home,
Though I haven't been in a year.

And when I turned,
She was standing there,
Hair shorter,
Years younger than the day she passed away.

"Are you free?" I asked,
Knowing she would be gone when I woke.