I broke
a mirror, when we first met.
Our guilty reflections
fragmented
as we stared into the shards.

Barely a decade old,
but in my eyes you’d never be a perfect ten.
Back then you were
A pigtail pulling, cootie carrying boy,
A pigtail pulling, cootie carrying friend.

Two years passed then we were
split apart. Like crevices
between
reflective pieces. Another five and I saw
You.
In a mirror now fixed. Your reflection
the same, different.

Seven years. Spent growing up
apart. Yet growing closer.
Now
when you grab me, my hair. I scream
for the right reasons .
And holding hands isn’t just for
arm wrestling.

Shards of bad luck are swept up
into a metaphorical dustbin.