She first appeared my first year of high school as my best friend in homeroom. Tall, thin, a little broader in the shoulders, with dimples and a cheerful grin; sea-blue eyes and straight blonde hair. An artist—photographer. Her laugh, infectious. How we loved each other so. She taught me to smoke weed and kissed my lips as we dozed to sleep. We shared so much love, and then she was gone.
She reappeared my first year in college as my best friend and roommate. Tall, thin, a little broader in the shoulders, with a compassionate smile; sage-green eyes and curls of blonde hair. An artist—writer. Her embraces, warm. How we loved each other so. I taught her to roll joints, and holding each other till daybreak we’d lock lips as we dozed to sleep. We shared so much love, and then she was gone.
