I was that friend,

with the coke bottle glasses.

The tightly gripped notebook.

And the fear of attention.

I was that friend,

constantly telling you to get down from there.

To walk with care.

To do your homework.

I was that friend,

you would call when you were finally ready to listen to reason.

Or you would tease because she was writing or reading.

I was that friend,

who cried when you did.

Who laughed when you did.

Who fought with you like only siblings would.

I am the friend,

constantly checking on your welfare.

Encouraging you to reach for your dreams.

Encouraging you to laugh because you will live longer.

And who talks too much on occasion.

I am that friend,

because you are my friend.