"We'll climb another roof top, and scare the crooks away. A gypsy and a singer..."

dear (dear) friend,

We met for the first time singing other people’s songs and drinking coffee. And it was then and on purpose that I asked you walk me to my car. Beginning my memories of you with simplicity and shifting feet. Later that year, we would drive across the county lines for adventure and friendship. Exploring the carlisle mountains. searching through bookstores. And living our own dreams of being a writer. a musician. someone famous or loved.

I believe I was more truthful with you than I have been with most. in that terrifying and honest moment, months later, when I told you I wanted only to be your friend. Fearing with unbearable certainty, that the sudden spilling of those platonic words, would take away the sacredness of all our memories together.

I am, perhaps and at times, sorry I met you as careless and unsettled woman, saying no to everyone, to anyone I could, to you. Maybe it was that you always reminded me of someone else I used to know. Someone else who broke my heart. Maybe my cheap perceptions couldn’t pass through that ghost behind your face. Maybe it was that you questioned christianity. Though now I might say that makes you all the more beautiful.

Nevertheless. The reasons I said no, or said anything at all, did not, for me, dismiss the happiness of our time together. I found, eventually, that that conversation would pass and we would still be good friends, though the fear of mixed messages and the pride of being pursued kept me from saying how much I admired you. You are a good and brave man. You sent me a children’s book and gave me your headphones. You brushed the hair from my eyes on that street with the ice cream shop. You to took my picture. You made me feel adored. You are part of my story and I won't forget.

ashley