The specifics escape me, but I know this: hyper honesty dove forward, before our hesitation could calculate the jump. Somewhere, we exchanged our names automatically, but our ears listened to our joined fogginess instead.
I was her son without the discipline.
She was my mother without the responsibility.
We’re friends minus the buildup.
Kinship’s engrained, and often reserved. A friendship’s already activated, when
worlds dissolve by shared words. Life’s just a reference.
“What’s your name again... again?” And she laughed.
Submmited by Steven Leonardo Clifford