hermione but with glasses and curly hair that would rain down from her head to her shoulders. new york was her city, or so that’s what I associated her with (possibly because it was vaguely reminiscent of her name). a leader. an air of determination always hung around her, and you knew — you could tell — that she would have no trouble telling you your flaws. but it always came from a place of heart. she was my friend from high school (and middle school).
there’s a fire in her eyes and in the way she spoke too. charged. her presence in my life was blue, not of the sea, but of electricity. blue like lightning hitting the ground and blue like a fire when it burns hot. blue like a star, the ones surrounding the horsehead nebula. newly born and shining bright.
she had a knack for detail. she would remember everything that I did or said and would personally make christmas gifts for me from those memories. even now, I want to remember who she was. I want to be able to talk to her and to feel that fire once more. but it’s been almost two years since I’ve last seen her. I have to say that I miss her. I miss the way she would talk about neuroscience as if it were a normal topic of conversation. how she would go on about the book she read and what it means, all the while berating me about how I never read. I still don’t, you know? I really should. and I’ll say it again in a year.
I remember the day when I confided to her. tears streaming down my face, I yelled at her about how I felt like no one cared about me. how they would ask me for answers to the calculus homework but would never get to know me as a person. I didn’t know why I was yelling. and I didn’t know why I was yelling specifically at her. but I think I was comfortable enough with her to finally let it all out. it came in waves. my face buried in my hands, I was never able to tell her that I was sorry.
she laid a hand on my shoulder and said, “I thought you were smart, but you’re terribly dumb if you think that’s the only thing that people see in you.”
I’ll never ever forget that.
now, I open up a senior letter from you while blinking back the sudden tears welling up in my eyes. I forgot who you were for a moment in my life. not your existence, but who you were. how fearless and brave and how bright you were. how strong and valiant you were. how you didn’t take no for an answer, all the while being able to tell others the same. to never back down. to stand your ground. and that one quality cannot possibly define who someone is or was.
we’ve known each other for so long (almost ten years now? wow.), but I realize that we haven’t seen each other in a long time too. I hope you’re doing well.
I don’t say this often, but I miss you.