I can see the wrinkles in your mother’s smile. The lines adorning her face that your new friends will never realize weren’t always there. I can see your dad’s graying hair. I remember when you used to have a black-and-white cat and a golden retriever who are both dead now, leaving you with one pet left (I remember when you got her too).
You were my first friend in pre-school. I was shy, but we became best friends immediately. I remember how we would try and sneak up on our teacher, but she would somehow always know we were behind her. She used to joke that she had eyes on the back of her head, but to us, it was pure magic.
We stayed together through elementary school. We were both short for our age, but I was an inch taller than you. Our first grade teacher used to joke that it would always be that way.
In fifth grade, I switched schools. I didn’t see you for a while after that, but when I did, I noticed you were taller than me. You wore make-up too, and contact