She always loved the woods
Always just enough noise
To stop her from feeling fidgety
So different from the dead silence
She's used to.
She saw him there.
Her imaginary friend.
Is it still called an imaginary friend
When you're eighteen?
When you didn't create him
Until your fifteenth birthday?
Her mother had bought her cheap gifts
She had no use for
So she escaped outside to hide her silly disappointment
That she got exactly what she expected.
He was there, waiting to wish her a
Looking surprisingly stylish in nice jeans
And a white jacket,
Bright against his dark brown skin.
'You know, I don't know why you always meet me here,'
He says, brushing dirt off the black pea coat
He's so proud of.
'I'm really not all that in to nature.'
Used to his complaints.
'This is the only place I imagine you.
We have to meet here.'
'Just imagine me somewhere else,'
He says, shivering.
'Preferably somewhere warmer.'
'I've tried to imagine you other places,'
She tells him, frowning.
'It just doesn't work.'
'So what happens when you go to college?'
'You've said before that you're never coming
'I don't know,'
'I'm gonna miss you,'
Their friendship was never 'touchy-feely.'
The barest hint of implication made them
'I'll miss you, too,'
Her voice not showing how
Sad she really is.
Five years later
She goes back to her home,
Despite what she'd once said.
She goes to the woods and sighs,
Finding them empty,
Knowing it was silly to think
He'd still be there.
'Have you looked at your hair from the back?
'Cause it is not working.'
And there he is
Grown-up, like her
Wearing a black button down shirt
With a white tie.
She can't remember ever being so