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.