You met me when we were only old enough to understand ourselves. We knew that big girls wore make up and we knew we looked pretty in dresses. Wasn't that simple? You taught me that your favourite colour was blue, because suddenly colours belonged to everyone, not just boys or girls. You taught me how to do the monkey-bars in your backyard and you taught me to braid hair. My, how our world has expanded. My, how we've grown. We danced and caught ladybugs and collected pretty rocks. Of course you remember that. You stayed with me at the age when we thought it was funny to say stupid things. You stood by me even when we had a fight which we thought destroyed us. Would I be wrong in thinking we're bulletproof? You knew me when we learned that boys break hearts. You made me mad and I still missed you when you left. I very much love you; not in the usual way we read about, but that's still love.
