It was 1990 when we met,
before we were who we were.
The nineties were running through sprinklers
in summer,
playing whiffle ball in the yard,
popsicles,
make-believe games, stick horses,
and dances to Green Day.
The 2000s were much the same,
with crushes, dear diaries,
womanhood, and makeup
sprinkled about like the dandelion seeds
we used to blow into the sun.
By 2014, you ripped me
from your life
like a page of paper
in a Lisa Frank notebook
we wrote songs and dreams in.
And here I am,
floating on the breeze,
waiting to land somewhere
far away
from my own mind
where your memory
lives in so many
different colors.