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Crayons, scissors, and glue. That's where we started, fresh babies ready to walk the hallway of first grade. My pigtails and thick glasses, and your happy smile and fuzzy hair.
Ironically you were the one to talk to me eager to be my friend.
Who would have thought later down the line you would regret that choice.
I grew up as the years went by, you somehow holding on to the past.
Never seeming to be able to let go.
I guess you finally had enough walking around what should have been the happiest place in the world.
Taking my twelve year old crayons, out of jealousy, and breaking them in half.
