There is a time every autumn, when you can feel the seasons click. The air is crisp, summer is gone, and for the first time in a long time, you need a blanket on your bed.
Feeling bittersweet. Friends, however fair-weather, have moved on. Literally. I feel the gap widening, and the necessity for honing the kindergarten pastime of making new friends. How did that song in Girl Scouts go? “Make new friends, but keep the old: one is silver and the other, gold. A circle is round, and has no end: that’s how long I want to be your friend.” Over the years, friends have come and gone. I’ve learned you really can’t count on anyone to stick around forever. That’s what makes it special, makes it count for something. It’s nice to have someone to tell secrets to, someone to drink wine with until two in the morning and say “oh my God, me too” to so many different things. It’s rare.
So I’m mourning, the things I’ll miss, things that will remind me of these people who I may never see again. For better, for worse.
They are tie-dye, loud music in the morning, reggae nights, summer festivals, dinner simmering on the stove. They are warm smiles, they are red hair and freckles, hold you take care of you, tell me everything friends. They are sparkles and dancing and fleetingly romancing. They are fiery, acerbic, and quick and careful, don’t cross them. They are giddy and whimsical, make your gut hurt laughing. They are blue skies, puffy clouds, greenest of grass, barefoot with painted toes in the brightest color of the rainbow. They are getting lost and not minding at all. They are two soft pools of headlight beams, going forward to places unknown with luminous promise. They are what people say when they say, “I want to be more spontaneous,” they’ll say let’s go right now, “carpe diem,” life is really short but it’s so fucking good. They are guitar nights under neon lights, glowing brightly on the other side of the moon. They are their own brand of love and understanding. They are kindred spirits, and sisters, to each other and to me.