i remember the first time we really clicked, you know.
back in seventh grade, a lifetime ago.
part of me says i was sitting on a bed, and you on the floor.
but it might've been the other way around.
i feel like we talked about the sky. but maybe it was the moon?
it doesn't matter, we thought it was deep, something special.
something only the two of us understood.
[i think we were just suffering from exhaustion.
it was awfully early by then.
or awfully late.]

that year was my worst.
yours, too.
seventh grade never treats anyone well.
we stayed friends, carried 'our' notebook to and from class.
took it home on alternating weekends, to stay caught up.
this was back when no one had texting.
we made it through, in one piece.
[our hearts may have been in pieces, however.]

eighth grade rolled around. we shared one class, french 1.
i paid too much attention to you and our lives,
not nearly enough on the class. i scraped by with a b.
[i knew french was only to be admired.
you told me french was mine if i wanted it.]

we were inseperable or distant in high school, due to so many things.
your boyfriend[s]. my catastrophes.
i lived my days defending you,
and my nights crying because of you.
i never felt good enough in your eyes.

eventually, i changed.
you changed too, but you just got older.
i matured. i grew stronger.
i stopped taking **** from people.
yes, even you.

but we're at a point where we can be friends.
or friendly, if you prefer.
but also not acknowledge each other in the hall.

your tattoo, it reads, "stay gold, ponyboy."
and when i saw it, i cried.
i cried for every time we watched that together.
every time we won't see it together.
you were a good friend to me, even with your faults.
you forced me to grow and change or die trying.
and i can't thank you enough.

[your sarakan loves you, loved you.]
i do miss you, but i can't handle having you back.
stay gold, beautiful meadow.
you better stay ******* gold.