We used to swing under the big willow tree
We lived 3 doors down from each other
We were princesses who fought dragons
We could save the kingdom and find our prince by lunch time
Our moms laughed and talked about how cute we were
Four years old was a cute age

Fast forward a bit
We went into elementary school innocent and young
Boys had cooties
Girls had cooties
Kickball always ended with someone getting hit in the face
We would always sit out field and pick grass and shape it into a little birds nest
Life was good
Until your parents started fighting and I mean really fighting.
It scared me and I would have to go home
I would make you come with me
three doors down
Our moms didn’t laugh anymore
By Christmas break your parents were broken up and divorced
Eight years old was a confusing age

Junior high was mean.
Girls would rip you to shreds and then hang pieces of you on everyone’s lockers
Boys just wanted to make out
A whirlwind of uncontrolled hormones
We were the quiet ones
Always flew under the radar
Just trying to make it out alive
We found a little spot to eat lunch under the stairs where no one would go
We giggled and talked about boys who didn’t even know that we existed
I remember crying in the bathroom with you because people were brutal and we weren’t good enough
Our moms worried about us and how distant we were becoming
Thirteen years old was a sad age

Highschool is another story
You were put in the hospital for a month
I was left at school alone
I had to find more friends
I found most of them were fake
So I ate my lunch in a bathroom stall
Reading all the swear words that were carved in the wall
You were really sick and we grew apart
We were always close
We will always love each other
You tried to save me from myself
But I didn’t let you
Seventeen was an important age

Now we are at different colleges
I tried to **** myself while you were getting an A on your anatomy test
It’s sad
We don’t swing under the big willow tree or fight dragons anymore
Our moms hardly talk
You are a success
and I am a failure
We don’t really mesh
I miss you every day
I’m sorry I can’t be good enough for you
We were princesses who lived three doors down, we saved the kingdom.
I love you
I’m sorry this has faded
Just like everything else
Nineteen years old is a dying age.

My best friend
My shoulder to cry on
We were so close
But now
Now I see
You just needed me
So you could feel better about yourself
Because I was too messed up
I was beyond repair
But you
You just needed some of my essence
My "best friend"  
May I ask you this
Where did you go

She's been baked, baked, baking
Almost a week now.
She shows kaleidoscope colors,
Mostly blue, occasionally purple, and red.

I thought today would be clear skies
Maybe even mostly dry eyes,
But no just more baking,
Let her rise.

She's soars on thin air and loose earth.
She's just learning, they're no longer there.
They'll come back, they must.
But no, not I, nor the dust.

She's baked, she's baking.
The moon shines down,
And She looks up,
The moons' still watching her on the ground.

The way you know me, and finish my sentences.
The stories we have shared.
The look in your eyes when you are being bossy.
The way you light up when you color your hair a new color for the first time.
How professional you can be.
How silly you can be.
The barking laughter that escapes when you try to hold it in.
The two beautiful babies that you created.
The fact that you love rosemary lemon cookies (even though I don't)
Your refusal to be a boring grown-up dressed in boring grown up clothes
The fact that you still believe when we're old and gray and wrinkled we will live together.
That you never stop dreaming impossible or incredible New dreams (even if I think they're stupid or don't support you. )
The little light inside of you that never goes out.
How good of a mother you are.
How you refuse to stop learning even better ways of being a mom.
Your freakishly tiny and perfect fingers.
You're revulsion to stinky feet and shoes without socks.
How you let Lily try new (and sometimes ugly or unfortunate) fashion choices despite how they make you cringe because you want her to be her own person.
The fact that you never let me go.
Your painting skills.
Your ability to follow a recipe(one of us should be able to).
Your naive optimism(same as mine!).
Your love of bubbles.
The fact that at our advanced age we can cut open glow sticks and along them on each other.

Also entitled. Reasons Why I Love you.