Wednesday, 17 April 2013

My Best Friend


When I was thirteen, I had a best friend. She was like the threads to my puppet: the one person that could keep me together when things were getting too hard. We talked whenever we could, we became so close, and I like to believe that we truly understood one another - laughing with each other, even without the other. She was outrageous, brave, outspoken, beautiful and witty; her stormy eyes were honest and calm. She was elegant, but she also had weaknesses; she needed me just as I needed her. 
And believe me, I needed her, so much: this was the year where I sat on the edge of a cloudburst and watched a torrent of copious downpour tumble to my earth. But she sat with me, listened to the low drum of the water beating the ground, showed me where to a get a boat so I wouldn’t sink, and taught me to stitch feathers, to fly. 
But I think I might have flown too far away, because I’m no longer a puppet and she’s no longer my threads. Her eyes that watched the tempest have found at last a stillness, where she walks with other angels. I pray that I am one of them, but that she flies with the ones who need her most, and who will be her laughs, her threads and her boats. 

1 comment:

  1. This is lovely and sad, bittersweet. *hugs tight* I don't have the words to adequately express what I feel when reading this. All I can say is that I love it.
    Lovely blog BTW. It's perfect. :)

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