A Night In Your Kitchen
There is not much from twenty years ago I remember well. Those days were fleeting, hazy. But I remember that night in your kitchen.
We were not much older than kids. You held my hand and wouldn't let go. Ten fingers interlacing my five. Your arm tucked over mine, tight. Your blond hair dancing over your shoulder. The sparkle in your eyes. Your endearing smile. The way you laughed as you led me around, like a puppy, talking to friends and people we knew.
It was so sweet,
so innocent.
I often wondered what would have happened if I had been a bigger, braver, better person. Would things be different now? Would you still be around?
But it wasn't meant to be. Our paths went different ways, with disparate twists and turns. Sometimes joyful, sometimes full of sorrow.
Occasionally they would cross, with the group on Mass, at someone else's special occasion, or lost downstream on some wild misadventure. But never again would they intertwine so sweetly, so innocently, like that night in your kitchen.
If I could trade my path for yours, I would. If I could endure your hardships, I would. Just so that you could be here again, surrounded by friends, your family, and living life again.
So all I have left is a prayer that you are at rest and at peace.
A prayer and an indelible memory, of that night in your kitchen.
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[ [ Hey Shannon, I know it's been ages since we’ve hung out, but before you go I want to tell you how special and great you are! And I'm glad to have been one of your many friends. Let’s catch up sometime, OK? ] ]