This line, over here, reads: “it’s not cool, telling someone you haven’t seen in years that you still think about them…” and I think of so many someones’ from elementary school, a handful from highschool. The high school ones intimidate me still… were I to make an appearance, it would be full of "see-how I changed’s” and angst. But in elementary school, I feel a tenderness toward the few who’ve disappeared from my line of social-media sight… what about that girl who was a poet? One day, coming in possession of a small spiral-bound white-paged notebook full of the possibility of being filled, I handed it to her and asked her to write something while I swayed on a tire swing. She returned it to me with a poem about autumn, stanzas and rhymes included and I could not believe that such a page-filling miracle could occur with such seeming ease.

I hope that somewhere in this world, she is still writing poetry!