when I met him I knew what I didn’t want–
friends.
I met him working a lock in, and he was the one who asked
if I–the girl with headphones sitting alone on a rock
in a sea of rocks–was okay.
I wasn’t.
I didn’t want friends. but when he asked to climb
I said yes.
he introduced me to his girlfriend–red hair, feisty smile
warm words–and I liked her.
I still didn’t want friends.
I dodged hugs until I couldn’t dodge them anymore.
I hid my tears until I couldn’t anymore.
I buried my past until the words wouldn’t hide anymore.
I closed my heart until it couldn’t keep them out anymore.
now, I have two friends.
he likes death metal. I like acoustic.
she likes dresses. I hardly wear shoes.
they can both curse a blue streak. I’m a silent rager.
they find home in each other. I’m still aching.
they don’t believe in God. I do. and I think they should too.
I’m still scared
to have friends.
but when we’re together we all
laugh a lot
sing a lot
play a lot
create a lot
speak a lot
be a lot.
a dysfunctional family, we three, to be sure
but a family, yes indeed.
we’ve got our dark days.
but if I find the courage to reach out a hand
I know it will find someone.
I guess friends are good for something.
now here we are–he’s going to school
and I don’t want to say
goodbye.
again, I am afraid
to have friends.
perhaps because last time I said goodbye
it turned out to be a lot worse than I thought
it was going to be.
but when I remind myself to listen, I hear
their plans for the future, I hear
myself in them.
South Africa, New Zealand.
movies to watch, rocks to climb.
houses to live in.
they’re not leaving me behind.
and I want to say–I’m only ever close to happy
when I’m with you two.
but I don’t.
instead I tell them I’m thankful.
instead I tell myself–
it’s okay to have friends.