Alive.

By
I remember those scorching sweaty days, as the sun beat down on your golden, blonde hair. The heat took our breath away. At times it was too much to bear- but we didn't mind. The world became our playground, and the scrapes on our knees told our stories. Our stories of climbing the tree in your front yard- our castle. They told stories of taking long walks on crooked sidewalks, bumps catching us off guard, and that was our escape. We used to glide amung the streets of mystery, streets that witnessed events we were much too naive to even begin to grasp. They told stories of jumping too high on the coal black trampoline- the reason you were always burnt and your feckles popped out, the reason I was always painted brown.
The sun would start to hide, as did we. Afraid we would hear her loving voice, almost begging for us to return into her sight. Eventually, we would give in-and the looks on our faces said enough. Sometimes our faces screamed enough anguish, we were rewarded with milk mustaches and chocolate ice cream down our shirts.
The nights would grow long, and the air outside became cooler. Rattling sounds escaped the door knob on your back door-and our giggles were enough to wake up the neighbors. Though, no one ever caught us and they always stayed sound asleep, as if to give us an accomplished feeling. I can still feel my heart race as we ducked behind beaten, worn out cars- the only kind we would find in the neighborhood- as we anticipated for someone to open the door, and yet find no one there. We squeezed our legs together as tight as we could, as our excitement sometimes got the best of us. Our loud foot steps could have gave us away, lead them right back to your house, but it never did- and we felt complete.
We grew weary, and we could hear your pink decorated bed calling our names, oh so sweetly. The pillows comforted our heads, and the broken springs beneath us, well let's just say- we could have cared less. We would draw pictures that rambled through our minds and shouted out great expression on each other's NOW aching backs. Neither one of us knew what the other would draw, we pretended we were paying attention anyway. As always, one of us would fall asleep on the other. The other -squinting eyes, and would grow envious of the sweet sound of snoring. I remember before we would fall asleep, we would always remind each other to pray. Frequently, my prayers included you, and I would bargain with the Lord I would do anything, if only he could give me another day with you like the one we had just had.
Sleeping side by side, our dreams pouring with the thoughts that hogged our advanced minds, and the craving we had for the next day overwhelmed us. The next day would always seem so far away, and yet we knew it would be there as soon as we awoke- so close, we could almost taste it.
Those were the days we were sure of ourselves. The days where everything always fell in place, and we were never seperated. We always talk about how we miss those "barbie days", the days of getting caught in the rain, the days where NOTHING wipe the huge smiles off of our faces. As we still stand side by side, through thick and thin, through light and dark, we know- those were the days- that we felt ALIVE.





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