we are

It’s the violet that catches my eye, crinkled paper stuck to the windshield of my car. It’s the seventh note that I’ve been left this week, a trend of rainbow colors that offer our memories. They’re unsigned, but we both know you’re sending them. Writing has always been easier between us, without the need for eye contact, avoiding the acknowledgement that something, everything has changed from our paper ring promises on the playgrounds to the heavy realness that’s exists between us now. I’ve given up on first moves, my intentions clear in lingering goodbyes, late night car drives, and the blunt question I had asked last week after dinner at your parents house.

What are we?

I think the notes are your way of giving yourself time and giving me the answer we both know is there.

Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet.

We are 12 years old, strangers on a beach playing frisbee, and we are curious.

We are 13 years old, throwing food around a noisy lunch room table, and we are laughter.

We are 14 years old, defeating puberty, first crushes, and high school, and we are confused.

We are 15 years old, dancing in the rain after a football game, and we are happy.

We are 16 years old, whispering secrets between lines of Shakespeare in English class, and we are trust.

We are 17 years old, walking hand in hand across the stage at graduation, and we are determined.

We are 18 years old and there is a violet note that doesn’t tell me what we are or who we’ve been. It’s a date and a time, 7pm at the old dock on the lake where we met. I hope the answer is that we are love.