Three years ago. Late January.

We stand in the dark of a high school morning, together.

The way you laugh just warms me up.

I know we are forever.

So even when we leave this place, and less and less I see your face, I can still feel your kindness and grace. I can still hear your laugh.

And slowly as the seasons turn, and friendships spark and many burn, I look to you as my stomach churns with a fear that never seems to quit.

I squeeze your hand, just as planned, but our palms don’t seem to fit.

Lost in confusion, I loosen my grip. I feel your hand squeeze back, then slip. I am left on one hell of a trip without the closeness that I crave.

Stunned, I look down at my fingers, where your familiar feeling still sometimes lingers, and I wonder what is next.

I touch the wall. I touch my face. I get my bearings in this foreign place. I look out my window into the vastness of our space, and in the distance I see you.

You are a bit older, maybe wiser, and California sun kissed. You have grown even more gorgeous and fuller than the person that I’d missed.

And you are surrounded by a mist. Heavy and elusive. The type that hangs around someone once so close, and now so far that I can’t reach you by text, phone, plane, or car because I don’t know what to say.

And I think that you don’t either. I feel like a baby, and perhaps time is my teether. With that, I learn to be okay.

And I learn a lot more, too. About love, and economics. Losing control, and Español.

I learn to forgive, and to grow, and to be happy with where I end up. Even if it was not where I thought I would be. Even if it means I am far away from you.

And from what I could see, you had learned a lot too.

In the warmth of Spring, flowers bloom from our palms, reaching out to touch the worlds around us. It was evident that we had not slipped from each other’s grasps, but chosen to let go.

To let each other grow.

And in the space between us are new friends and new buds. New love and new blooms. Beautiful, individual lives that would be impossible without room.

Letting go is worth it every day that you are happy. Letting go is easy knowing you have people to pick you up when you’re feeling crappy. Letting go is not so bad when I know that we are growing. I hope our flowers meet midway one day without us even knowing.

No longer in the dark of a January morning, I still keep you in my heart.

Our friendship is sweet, like that mango vinegar. Working together when we seem worlds apart.