Feel.

The grass touching the soles of my feet sent shivers up my spine; I wasn't expecting it to still be wet but I took off running anyway. Tangled hair falling into my face, tree branches brushing against my skin, barely dressed, I found my way to a space in the woods where I would sit until the sun tickled my skin a little too roughly. Your dad had cut down one huge tree in this space using it to finish up a cabin we often would run away to just a few hundred feet from your house. We would pretend we were grown and on our own… We would have picnics in the space where the tree once lived or you'd go out there alone to think, journal, cry... When I went out there you never chased me. You knew I didn't need you right now. This is a learned habit; you put this runaway spirit in me. I used to hate the grass on my bear feet.

"It's fucking itchy!! Why can't we just wear some shoes every once in a while?"

"You can't feel anything if you wear shoes. Stop being a baby."

"What is so important that I need to feel out here?"

"Everything."

Once I found my way to the tree stump, I sat down and held my hands out; angry.

"Could you please give me something beautiful to hold on to? I think I'm losing everything. I think I'm lost. I don’t think I can help her.”

Tears fell quietly as I continued to sit there with nothing but my anger. I longed to hold your hand and tell you that I love you and have you actually hear it. Have it mean something. Have it change something. After a while, my anger had left. It had been taken away by the wind, I guess.

As I walk back, I feel everything; the way the ground feels soft but firm, the roughness of the twigs and small branches that have fallen, the rocks pushing against my heels, the cracking of the leaves; dead. When I walk into the kitchen, you are there. You are eating half a slice of toast with the smallest amount of peanut butter; it's barely visible, scraped across so lightly. You try to smile but tears fill your eyes and spill over immediately. You don't say anything but I already know what you want to say. You want to say, "It hurts. It feels "ugly." It feels like giving up. It feels like I’m never pretty enough.” So, I hug you. I hug you and I can feel every bone in your body. I can feel every piece that is trying so hard to hold you together. You fall apart; hyperventilating.

"I love you. You'll make it through this. I'm here."

You pull away and look at me with blue eyes and tear stained freckled skin; trying so hard to smile. You take another bite and pretend like it doesn't feel like dying. I walk away and give you space; give myself space. We breathe and it falls into a rhythm that feels like love, like strength; feels like healing.

Eventually, you push me away and I let you. It’s hard to watch someone hate themselves; it’s hard to know you can’t really force healing but I write you a letter years later… And it brings me peace, I think you found your own solace too. Friendships are sometimes only around for a season I’ve heard and that hurts but I’m thankful for all the lessons I’ve learned.

You taught me a lot of things I didn't expect you to; things like how to care about someone (outside of family) more than yourself, how it feels to want things for someone but also not want those things; the ache inside like a fire burning endlessly. You can never put it out. You taught me how to love in ways that I keep under lock and key; secrets I’ll bring to the grave. You taught me to enjoy things that felt out of reach; taught me how to dance in the rain and feel like dying a little less inside. You were the most I have ever loved anyone platonically, in my entire life, I think and yet I also hated you and the things that you did... The things you said... The things that you believed made you, you.

You taught me what it is like to love unconditionally.

ReBecca DeFazio

More Than a Flower