#!book

Dear you,

Do you remember when we were just eight years old? Do you remember what your answer was when I asked what you thought love was like? If I recall correctly, you said, "Love is like being with your best friend everyday, without the teasing." I didn't believe it at the time, considering I was, well, me and the closest I got to "love" was the worms I ate in first grade.

When I got home, I asked my parents if what you said was right and they'd just give me this condescending smile and pat my head. Sometimes, when I'd bring it up again, they'd say, "She's a bright girl. With a head like that, she'll go far." And I believed every word they said because I too knew that you'd do bigger and better things that I couldn't even begin to fathom. I knew that by the time we finished high school, you'd already be planning your job options, your life, leaving the home you had grew up in, leaving me.

From that day in second grade, about halfway through the year when they took you of out Ms. Jenkins class, insisting that you were too bright to be around a bunch of dimwits, I knew you were already far ahead of me. Each day we'd still go to the park that's less than a block from our houses and you'd ask me if I was mad. I'd quickly shake my head, insisting that you're just meant to be one of the smartest girls the world will know.

Sometimes I wish I could go back to second grade, still knowing everything that I know now, but I wouldn't change anything. You'd still be my best friend and I'd still idolize you for being the smartest eight-year-old I'd ever met. But back then, things were so much easier. There wasn't worry about dances and dating and how we looked. We acted like ourselves around each other and I would take that over how we are now any day of the week.

I'd still just be your best friend.