We were kids before the world asked us to explain ourselves.
Back when your laugh was the sound of summer,
And mine echoed right behind it.
We made our own constellations out of streetlights,
And swore that nothing, not school, not time,
Not even growing up could pull us apart.
“Chasing Cars” played on repeat
As our private teenage anthem.
The summer days felt endless,
Like we’d never have to say goodbye.
Why would we say goodbye?
We were timeless and knew each other backwards and forwards.
We were introspective, yet carefree.
We were survivors, bound together by secrets.
But as it sometimes does, the impossible became reality.
Life tugged at the seams,
Quietly at first, then louder, then only deafening silence remained.
You disappeared.
You were gone before I could turn around.
You packed up your life overnight
And without even a whispered goodbye
You erased every trace of you from this world.
I fell apart, but life went on.
Relationships, marriages, babies, new friends
All filled the voids that time creates.
But something was missing in all of these moments.
Not something, but someone.
You.
Did you know I had written hundreds of letters and birthday cards over the years?
I sent them all over the United States to anyone who may know you,
To anyone who shared the name of who you used to be.
To anyone who could help me find you.
After years of me searching and you missing
Like a person whose face was plastered on a milk carton,
I heard your name from someone we both knew.
Like an animal I turned to the whisper and dialed in.
I learned that your name was no longer the same.
Because you, wonderful you had bloomed into someone new,
Someone who you were always meant to be,
Who maybe you had always been.
I just didn’t see at the time.
Maybe you didn’t either.
Maybe we both missed it while we were chasing what we thought love was at the time.
But there you are.
I feel like I know you, because I do.
Like a soft revelation from heaven, your new name unfurled
And I drank it in like wine that quenched the soul of a weary traveler.
But suddenly every memory felt jagged and painful because you were no longer you.
Or were you?
Your name had changed.
Your voice had changed.
Your outward appearance had changed.
But I had never only loved those things about you.
I knew your heart.
I knew your soul.
I knew the parts of you that you kept hidden from the world while we sang along to the car radio late at night.
Then suddenly it didn’t matter that you were no longer the boy I had loved.
And all I could think was
Yes.
Of course.
How fitting.
You are safe.
Had I always known?
No.
Of course not.
How fitting.
I wasn’t safe then.
I haven’t seen you in years,
Unless you count FaceTime.
I miss you.
Not just who you were then when we were kids,
But who you are now.
Who you have always been deep down.
I want to know your laugh now,
I want to hear your favorite songs,
I want to know your quiet days,
And your loud ones, too.
If you ever want to lie in the grass again and say nothing,
Maybe just be who we are now,
I’m still here.
Still listening.
Still making constellations out of streetlights.
Not even growing up could pull us apart.