Reid@YWP

birdsong woke us at five a.m., the washed-out dawn

altogether too bright. wake-up bugle wasn't til eight, time spent

rolling over and over listening to the screen doors slam.

I was once a girl in love with a flower, 

delicate and soft. 

So I picked this flower and brought it home, 

deciding it was better off with me. 

If only I knew calamity would follow 

I got home from work at nine o’clock and decided that I would go down, through the gate, across the creek–socks mushy all of a sudden in my Adidas sneakers–and into the meadow for a walk without stopping to see anyone.

I have this dream 

where the sky is dark, 

moon illuminating, 

faded stars surrounding it, 

that I gaze at from 

I guess I'm happy for you.

Actually, I really am.

At least, I'm expected to be.

Because, if you can't be proud 

of one of your best friends,

can you really be proud of

anyone?

On my first day of sixth grade, someone told me, “You’re the only person that has said that to me today.” I didn’t realize the weight of those words at the time, but looking back, I understand how much they impacted my life.