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

'Happy Birthday'

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.'

She laughs,

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?'

He asks.

'You've said before that you're never coming

Back here.'

'I don't know,'

She admits.

'I'm gonna miss you,'

He says,

Surprising her.

Their friendship was never 'touchy-feely.'

The barest hint of implication made them

Best Friends.

'I'll miss you, too,'

She says,

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.'

She turns

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