Little Things

I wasn’t even thinking about you.
I haven’t for years.

When connections dry up, I rarely look back or visit old places.
I like to move uphill — I don’t see who stayed beneath the rock.

But today, you texted me.
About what… who knows? After so many years, just a simple check-in — nothing grand, nothing heavy — but it had a cataclysmic effect on my soul.
Your little text took me down the lane again. I haven’t been there for years.

I went down the very rock I’d been climbing uphill all this time.
I remembered how we were — little girls in our little school,
running through playgrounds, sitting at the same desks, saving each other’s seats, having each other’s backs,
writing in our journals with glitter pens.

In that small, innocent moment, we labeled each other as our best friends.
It was that simple — and it meant loyalty, love, sisterhood that couldn’t be questioned.
We always had room for each other on our little desks.
We always shared our little snacks.
Nobody taught us — we just knew.

It stayed that way in memory — untouched, pure.
In that world, we never grew up.
Friendships weren’t tested, hearts weren’t broken, comparisons weren’t made.
Nobody was better. Everybody had a person they stuck to and meant it.
Nobody was alone.

And if something went wrong, a simple “sorry” and a handshake fixed it all.
We knew each other’s siblings like they were our own.
Our likes and dislikes — we cherished them all.

In all our losses of growing up, we were each other’s losses too —
changing cities, careers, prospects, dreams.

But your little text reminded me how important small things are.
I should have held on to you as I shuffled through
meaningless friendships — well-suited to my profession, my city, my prospects.

On my uphill climb, I probably thought our friendship was too small to hold on to.
Maybe you did too. We don’t know how it happened — how we phased out of each other’s lives.
As I sat at many desks, I had snacks with many people,
I struggled to label someone as my best friend as easily as I did as a child.

Even calling someone a friend became too much of a burden —
often resulting in heartbreak and betrayal.
As my life grew, the little gestures faded away.
It felt too childish to expect someone to always have a room for me,
a snack for me, a place on the desk for me.

Your one text felt more like home
than all the places I’ve slept in for years.
Because in my memory, we are still little girls —
And I know you would always have room for me in yours, too

.