I long for the days of pinky promises and of second chances.
When the biggest worry in my life was who my best friend was at the moment. And not why he’s gone.
I miss smelling my mother’s rose perfume as I curled against her, scared of the storms.
Of playing in the daylily garden at grandmama’s, that sweet scent enrobing my summers.
I miss a lot of things. But you especially.
I miss your laugh, the way your face furrowed into so many lines when you thought, the warm sun as we laid sprawled in the garden.
How I wish you could see me now. Grown, accomplished, strong.
I have dedicated my life to being the things you never got to be.
The life, we never got to live.