Friendship
We Grew Up Together, But He Grew Up Faster
I first met Aaron when I was seven, and he was eight. He had just moved into the house across the street—a worn-down white building with ivy creeping up the sides and a broken mailbox that never stood straight. I remember the first time I saw him: he was sitting on the curb, barefoot, with a blue backpack beside him and a distant look in his eyes.
By Muhammad Sabeel8 months ago in Poets
the pride bus
Beauty is around me today because a woman on the bus says so. She says sorry for interrupting and it’s funny how that’s a conversation just the same. I tell her where I work and to ask for me if she comes by and I know her bus stop so it’s okay to share. When she gets off she complains everyone else is too loud (they are) and she’s a stranger so I forgive her. Customers tell me I complement myself and I gladly take credit for it. I say it’s day three without a wash and they differ because they’ll never see me again. It still feels like purpose swims through time because we all like beautiful things. Even when it’s trapped outside our skin. Even when it takes a stranger and the right lighting and it’s okay for me to say because I’ve never been good with performances. Just because I sound different doesn’t mean I am and just because the bus is loud doesn’t mean I can’t make a friend.
By Olivia Dodge8 months ago in Poets
