Photo / Greg Raines
We design worlds of rooftop conversation and tree limb lounging. Our backs press laughter into hardwoods as our fingers snake together.
We are bare feet and protection.
We listen to the same songs and cry over words that spear our hearts with lyrical arrows.
In high school, we call eight times in two hours because we forget one small sentence that must be placed in each other’s care.
I want to know everything about your day and you mine - not just the line up of activity and transition, but the feelings that flood each moment, the subtle perceptions that define your uniqueness, the illuminated seconds of epiphany that reveal you.
We light our souls on fire for each other. We understand the burn of love that can blaze between women - a complete and reckless dedication, a limitless understanding, a delicious adoration.
We are not romantic partners, but there is romance in the way we honor the world together. We are not sexual partners, but there is sensuality in the way I am open to your body - how I lean completely into you when I cry, wrap my hand around your elbow when I agree emphatically with what you are saying and wrestle realization into being through hours of patient conversation beside you.
We are bandit goddess warriors and giggling girls and brave priestess seekers. We are limitless as light patterns on wheat fields.
In our tender unknowing and careless conviction we co-create navigation rule books. We rock our rule books back and forth. We clutch them as we grow from babies to children to adults.
Then one day - breath caught on the phone at 35 - startled we proclaim,
“We know less now than we did. We know less now.”
And isn’t that something to celebrate?
Isn’t becoming humbled by humanness in the arms of your friend something to celebrate?
Taking apart every story you ever told, isn't that amazing?
It's like the last piece of clothing slipped off of hip bones.
It's like the belly of a berry, bleeding sweetness on your palm.