We were three years old and I loved you so, boy next door with the sandy-blond hair. We built sand castles in my sandbox and learned to swim in your pool, splashing around with floaties. You played with my Barbies and I played with your G.I. Joe, giggling in our glee, already taught to gender. I kissed you as we parted for naps; you blushed. I loved you and cried the day you moved. I still think of you, as our three-year-old selves. (Boy next door with the sandy blond hair.) Brandon, I still think of you.
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