I want to be your friend. That might sound desperate.
But I’m not even embarrassed. I want to know the cool things you’re doing and making. I want to play at the park and climb trees.
I want to share the whimsy of childhood with you and spy on the adults until their conversation gets boring, then hide under the hors d’oeuvres table where we can sneak handfuls of m&m’s, licorice and charcuterie.
Let’s get grass stains on our knees because we ran faster than our legs could handle and did cartwheels unsuccessfully. Let’s swing for awhile and jump off, trying to beat each others distance.
Can we celebrate each others successes? Can we be honest about our disappointments and sadness? All of our regressions?
Can I tell you when I’m hurting, when I feel invisible?
Will you pinky promise to care?
Will you agree to share? Because I want to be there.
I want to be your friend.
Whatever comes to mind, I’ll think on it too and we can have the kind of friendship that I only have with you.
Cross my heart.