Alex, Alex, Alex, let’s frolic down memory lane. You reeked of strawberry pop-tarts – in the best way. A scent that could wake me from an earthquake, a scent that I could smell from across the campus. Your scent that I haven’t smelled since.
I remember growing up in The-Den. That’s what cool kids walking with confidence in each step would call it as they yelled. In The-Den, streets were quiet except for crickets and frogs in deep conversation that could only be had when humans weren’t listening. Not a single engine could be heard. There were not many reasons one would venture through the grassy hill. Wolves howling at midnight moons, I miss that.
I miss having a friendship without drama that felt unbreakable. Chains shackled us together like prisoners unable to be far from each other. Codependent, not dependent, but having each other that we could depend on.
I remember our sneak-out codes, the ones that no one in the world knew but us. A single text at midnight as we quietly escaped our homes, followed by a meetup at our secret spot. The spot where the rushing water could be heard. The spot where the frogs and crickets stopped talking because we were there.
Remember laying in the tall damp grass looking up at twinkled stars, talking about nothing. Not fearful, trusting that we were safe at that moment. We grew up taller, stronger, and smarter, but I still remember the lunar rainbow. Alex, Alex, Alex, let’s frolic down memory lane.
The Bolt Magazine 