Two years ago today, you held my hand as the 3 o'clock afternoon sun glared at every inch of our bodies that she could reach, relentless in her envy for I still suspect that she longed to be in my place. I remember quite vividly what I wore from head-to-toe, the stupid, slow song that was playing, and how everything about that afternoon felt like it was preordained.

The room emptied little by little, until it was just our outstretched hands and my head resting limply on the side of the armchair and my best friend's slight body on the floor in the opposite corner of the room muttering songs under her breath, trying desperately to tune us out. We melted like shadows into the background, because people only see what they want to see, and they walked in and out of rooms, oblivious and unperturbed in their ignorance.

We jumped into things we knew we would eventually destroy in the end (knowing that we would also get hurt in the process), but we were fearless and selfish in our actions and refused to take heed of anything else. We were wise and foolish at the same time; but above all else we were young. We were both so fond at keeping secrets that we gradually started becoming one.You knew what you were doing while I was uncertain, you said things you thought you meant and I gave you things I thought I was capable of giving, wrapping them in tiny packages. We both had lessons that the other had to learn, like cautiousness and responsibility, vulnerability and strength.

Two years can change a lot of things. We are both older and I know better now, but I am not as brave as I had been, and I know that I will never be exactly how I used to be then. I can only look back at the years with fondness, and think of the stranger you've become without feeling a thing. It's perplexing how we could live at the same small town but not cross each other's paths. You have taught me that distance is so much more than the number of miles that keep two people apart.