She always did what she thought was best;
Everyone called her crazy, but I knew better than that. She was spontaneous, creative; she was kin, but she was more than that.
She was loved by a frizzled redhead. They went together like the magician’s hat and rabbit. They knew each other and got each other and would probably be simply content to spend the rest of their days glued together with laughter and spontaneous barefoot walks in the green grass under the warm sun.
Yes, they would be complete then, holding each other and smiling so wide.
I remember the curiously satisfying scribble-filled composition notebooks drawn from the depths of the cluttered darkness beneath her bed.
Oh, and we would sit and read and write and create stories both literal and visual.
And she and she, they both always knew what to do next and made everything fun.
Back when I was shorter and had to have someone else reach the freezer to open its glorious orange creamsicle-filled universe,
which to me was a treasure box all on its own ~
And we ran and we swam-all barefoot on dried, black tar roads. Everything was accessible, within arms reach–except for, of course, the deliciously frozen contents of the freezer–
And standing there,
on the two-inch-high sidewalk edge, I felt on top of the world. Me, her, and her.
We were on top of the world.
We laughed without knowing the height at which we danced, never even caring to look down upon the unworthy world below.
For Hannah and Livvy,
I love you guys.