Isolation, revelation, let it go

I have a book. It arrived yesterday. It's called Sixteen. 

My friend Zoe wrote it.

I call her my friend because she is in possession of the most important bear I have ever held. I gave it to her when she was a small child because that bear was only ever meant to keep me company, not spend my life with me and when she came into my life it was obvious the bear needed her and she it.

It was a well loved bear before it ever ended up with me. Hand made and loved to the point it had lost its nose due to so many squeezes.

It needed someone who would love it that passionately.

If that doesn't make Zoe my friend then maybe this does: when she was two and I was visiting her family she implored me to play with her.

PLAY WIF ME! Over and over and over as she dragged me by the hand.

When a child says PLAY WIF ME you fucking get to playing!

I believe playing with someone makes them your friend so.. she is my friend.

I was thinking about all that as I perused her book last night. The dedication floored me. Tears.

Then I started reading the book itself.

It jolted me back to a time.

Two different times, actually.

First a funeral and a poem written by her uncle. A poem that I can see every day as I dribble because it is a part of the display on my desk. (Psst, look over there to the right panel and see if you can find it)

Her writing reminds me of her uncle's writing in that they both articulate things I never would have realized I needed said had they had not said them. Does that make sense?

I don't know I need their words until their words come into existence.

And secondly, her book jolted me back to my own time of being sixteen and the very real sense of losing myself as I am just starting to understand myself.

I am so looking forward to the rest of this book.

Yes, I just spent an entire dribble pimping out my friend's book.

No, I do not apologize.

Yes, she really is that talented.

Titty sprinkles!


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