There were two. And they were beyond taming. A friendship of light, neither bound to any tradition or expectation.
At their peak, a new millenium began. Preditictions of disaster and doom passed them by. The sky was still up, the earth remained down. And that year, more than any other, the Wild Things ruled. She wolves playing free, their pack every soul in this old city. Home was known simply as 201, where the door swung open, summer breathed eternal and celebrations persisted.
One of them sits here writing this. The other is too far away for her to touch. They’ve grown. Time has lived them. Months roll by and they don’t speak. Eons pass before their paths cross. And when they do, they’re not nearly as wild. But sometimes a look passes between them and for that moment, they’re as wild as ever.
I miss my friend.
