I lay on my bed gazing at the photos of you littered across my walls

Walgreens print outs of us in 8th grade, beginning of freshman year, and last summer 

stuck to the light blue canvases that confine me to my small rectangular bedroom.

I didn’t expect that one day I’d be choosing new photos, 

of new people, to replace our once smiling faces with. 

You were the type of friend I thought was more permanent than anyone else

The countless breakfasts, lunches and dinners spent at your dining room table 

that always had smooth taper candles and patterned napkins on display

eating the food your mom had made for us, 

which was unconditionally offered to me as if I was a child of her own

The late summer nights spent on your back roof that we’d get to by crawling through your brothers room and out his window,

sitting on the dark decaying shingles that you’d joke we should pull off 

and claim a thunderstorm did so insurance money would pay for new ones.

We sat against your gray blue house feeling out of reach from everything,

watching the tangerine sky fall into the earth

waiting patiently for the sapphire to fade in, 

but really only wanting the stars to come out. 

And when they did we’d cruise slowly through your alley,

you on the bamboo longboard and me on the skateboard 

that belonged to your brother in the fifth grade, switching occasionally, 

although I was content with the skateboard and the longboard suited you. 

It never took long for us to get to the park a block away from your house

where we’d swung into stormy springs, itchy falls and dark winters,

together- just like we were the night of summer star seeing

where we allowed the sky to consume us,

fading out the cicada chirps and dew of the grass,

focusing only on what the other had to say. 

You were the type of friend I’d never had before

Our intimate conversations full of sobs and whispers,

talking about things only we could speak about, 

a damn mess of a mix of things we shouldn’t have experienced,

but it was okay because we could fall back on each other 

knowing one would stand arms open,

ready to catch the other’s fall. 

I met you when I was thirteen and lost you when I was sixteen 

but I still wear our matching ring on my pointer finger everyday

and your face, our faces together, 

will remain on my walls for a while longer 

until the tape goes dry

and the pictures float down to the floor,

forcing me to pick them up and pack them away.