I like to think back when we were but children. How shy and uncomfortable you were back then. With cheeks that always seemed flushed and curls that did a lively dance when you ran. I knew from the moment I met you that I loved you. How different you are now. All the softness of a child replaced by sharp edges and chiseled lines. Oh, but a bit of softness does remain. Right here on your lips. That same supple dent above your lip. The tender curve to your smile. If only you knew how simply taken I am with you.

By kikkopirate, January 13, 2015.

We met the day I turned seven. At the train station, you sat across from me with a small smile. Our toes could hardly touch the floor then. I remember being so very cross with you all the time. How your teasing could get me so hot in the head and set a burning glow to my cheeks. But there was laughter. What a shrill chorus we made. Giggling over such naughty things. Cramming our thumbs into an occasional cooling pie on Ms. Darcey's windowsill, using the dumbwaiter as our own personal elevator, yowling at the neighbor’s hounds till we had them foaming at the mouth. How gracefully you seemed to evade punishment. With such clumsy, tripping feet, I could never follow so slick a dance. You were always getting me into trouble, but then again, just as easily getting me out of it.

By kikkopirate, January 11, 2015.

I was almost ten when I figured out the true cause of bullying in schools, but who's gonna listen to some kid? Anyway, I'll tell you the story, let you decide if I'm right or if I'm a bit cracked in the head. We had the best classroom teacher, she was so awesome. We got our work done and there was still had time to relax and laugh. No-one got bullied, it was more like being part of a big family than a classroom.

Then one day our teacher was sick, we didn't know it, but she would be out for weeks. Her replacement arrived like she'd come to wage war on us. No speaking was tolerated or it was names on the board, minutes standing outside the room and whole class detentions at recess and after school. We lost our appetite for work and kids who had always been sweet to one another, caring like siblings, turned on the nicest kid in the class because he wore old sneakers. That kid was, and still is, my best friend since kindergarten. That's when I knew, you put that much pressure into a classroom, where do you expect it to go? They can't take it out on the teachers, so the most soft natured kid gets it. The next day I wore the oldest and smelliest sneakers I could find and sat next to my buddy of five years, if they wanted a slice of him they'd have to take me on too.

So that's when I knew, kids aren't naturally mean, they're just kids - but put in a teacher who bullies and puts stress on them and watch them change. Glib slogans are easy, leading by example is hard.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, February 26, 2015.

On the wall that has been crumbling these past twenty years, Toby sits, letting his eyes roam over the graffiti. With the finger of his right hand he feels the cracks and the pits made by so many seasons of hail and rain. Today, like the sidewalk weeds, they are dry. His left hand tightens involuntarily around the candy bars, making the wrappers crinkle. They had seemed like such a great idea in the store, something they had eaten when they were kids, back when they were just two spotty teens throwing aeroplanes at the back of class. What if in the last two decades she'd become someone else, prim and well-to-do? For all her antics, Gale was the smart one. What if she just looks at them like they're cheap candy and chocolate. Come to think of it they're kind of hard to chew and they make a mess. Before he can stow them behind the wall he hears her, "Toby! Is that a Curly Wurly?! Awesome!" It's Gale, an older version, but still in jeans, casual, smiling...


I was often over your house when we were kids. It was a place to hide and you knew it, but not once was I ever made to feel unwelcome or hurried out the door. It was a safe haven when the storm invaded my own home, my own space. School was hell every day and home just rocked back and forth between comfort and harmful. Without you, without the love you gave in that understated way, without the gentleness of your personality, I don't know what would have happened. I was never stable, not really, shifting from one place to another in my adult years, but always there was you. Sometimes I ignored you for months, lost in some new crusade, but never once were you mad when I remembered you again. Always easy with honest advice, but carefully phrased not to cause harm. You've never just been a good friend to me, you've been one of the rocks of my life - an anchor point. I live an ocean away, but if you ever need me I'll be there in mind, boy and soul. Just call.


Wind in our hair and no brains in our heads, we skidded down the asphalt in that brake-less go cart. The pram wheels became a delicious blur as we headed for the cross roads. One of us was always on the corner to make signals about oncoming cars, but really, what would we have done if one came? It was adrenaline pumping, eye opening, grin plastering fun and we loved every second, didn't we? Now we walk down the New York Streets in our tailored suits and designer shoes, no-one sees the kids we were. But when I look at you your knees are scuffed and when you see me my hair is a tangled mess from the wind. Just being with you is like settling on my mom's old couch with a shortbread, I'm home.


There's something of you in my DNA and it probably codes for all my best features. I only have to think of our childhood days to steal your smile and feel your warmth spreading though my weary heart. I only have to close my eyes to see us on our old street, you in short pants and me in a Sunday dress I was all set to ruin. Do you remember the mud pies and the wars we waged on the ants? Do you remember old Mrs Ellis and her half burnt biscuits we ate like they were going out of style? Do you recall laughing at the back of class until our sides felt like they'd break? I could meet a million fabulous people, all of them with interesting lives and philanthropic deeds, and not one of them could replace you.


You know, I think it was the mischief that bonded us so tight. Do you remember the night we tried "knock and run"? I think the old copper down the street was ready to clap irons on us. What about the day we hung an "out of order" sign on the bus stop and people walked away instead of waiting? Or the week we placed an apple on Mrs Pritchard's doorstep every single day? Some girls are are born as sisters, others are made into the best of friends, you my love are both.



I like to think when we were little our knees full of dirt, and long
nights of reading endless magic tree house books. Remember the
younger version of myself strolling through the meadow full of tulips
that were golden like the sun, and fresh cut grass that flattened like waves
every time the wind hit.
We would find a tree and declare it our queen.
Her royal highness would smile at you and me.
Remember how the
Raindrops would softly fall down our red flushed cheeks.
We would enter the house leaving behind the outline of our hopscotch
game, and the only thing we would do while we wait for the cookies to be
done is
listen to the light drizzle of the rain as it taps softly on the floor.
The sweet aroma of fresh baked cookies would suffuse through the kitchen,
The warm cookies were diamonds in our hands as we slowly
chewed them like it was our last meal.
Clinging to the possibility of having one more taste
of my mother's delicious cookies we’d lick our
fleshy lips in search for leftover crumbs.
Remember we'd make faces
the kind that would have left an
embarrassing mark on our life's story.
You would smile a toothy grin smile the kind that only I could feel, and
I would giggle over your foolish face.
Remember how when I came over to your house one day and only saw
a cardboard box on the front door step of your door that had my name written
in your sloppy handwriting.
Remember how I came home sobbing loudly my salty tears
rolling over my mother’s lap.
You probably

By vanessaf, April 22, 2016.