1999
The year we met
And on your birthday, you, her, and I gathered on a playground by the lake and our moms dressed us in printed bathings suits and we swam and listened to boy bands and sipped Hi-C orange and it was happiness and sunshine our small hearts couldn’t rationalize–those years of cheap presents and new friends coloring cheeks pink and making smiles wide
The year we met
And on your birthday, you, her, and I gathered on a playground by the lake and our moms dressed us in printed bathings suits and we swam and listened to boy bands and sipped Hi-C orange and it was happiness and sunshine our small hearts couldn’t rationalize–those years of cheap presents and new friends coloring cheeks pink and making smiles wide
2008
The year a boy broke us up
When all we wanted was his braces connecting to our braces in a metal death-match–winner take most embarrassing kiss story and a new beau to high school
The year a boy broke us up
When all we wanted was his braces connecting to our braces in a metal death-match–winner take most embarrassing kiss story and a new beau to high school
And on your birthday, I told you I’d buy you a skate board so we could flirt with him and them (they had long, shaggy hair and crooked noses)
By the end of the summer–when sunshine was locked out of a new school building and all we had left of the warm were bruises and memories of stolen moments with floppy-haired, raven-eyed boys–we found it was still our long talks and sleepovers spent drinking Hi-C orange that made our smiles wide.
Instead of fighting over who would take him to a dance (it was always a giggly death-match) we went to dances together. And we sang to new boy bands with older lead singers who played guitar solos instead of busting out dance moves; our smiles wide and fights forgotten.
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