Reflections (of something, at least)

I went back
to the words that first
brought our paths together.
May the twentieth,
seems like an age ago
(and thankfully my poetry
is much less stilted now
than it was then –
I hope).

Just like the poem,
the story
of a growing butterfly,
that poem,
that chance encounter,
brought something new
with it.

And I'm not complaining –
it's been a privilege
to talk to you,
to share thoughts with someone
so full of love
and enthusiasm.

I remember reading
an explanation of why
you go by chromeantennae,
something about
chrome being reflective
and antennae sensing,
so chrome antennae,
reflecting what we sense,
in your case (and mine)
through written word.
I liked that explanation,
it felt like an apt way to describe
this almost obsessive
propensity to write.

I still find it strange
that two people so far removed
can think in such similar ways
at times –
but then, I'm no people person,
and I have trouble
understanding people
when I meet them –
maybe it was easier
because I was reading poetry
at first,
rather than conversing.
(I'm rarely chatty,
but you probably know that.)

I'm a shy girl, but
when it's you on the other end
of the conversation,
you seem to tease the words out of me –
how on earth do you do that?

You make me think,
which is great,
and you make me feel
with your earnest,
honest words
woven into poetry,
and that's a miracle,
because I'm good at keeping
emotions out of things.
(I'm fragile and scared,
but some writers
can take all of that away,
and you're one of the best.)

You've prompted
some of the poems
I consider my best,
(and some I don't think
I would ever have dared
to write otherwise)
and your poems still
take my breath

away every time I read them –
they never get old.

But people grow older,
and now – you're eighteen,
somehow exciting and terrifying
all at once
(or something –
there was a poem you wrote,
which was so
intricate and clever
that I still struggle to appreciate
the full scope of
your writing craft in that piece,
that you expressed your thoughts in,
but I can't line my thoughts up
right now – I'm rambling –
I should have written this
with coffee to hand,
or mouth, as it were.)

Well, I'm nearly three years younger
and I'm still struggling
to deal with exams of all things,
(I shouldn't struggle with those,
it's just repeating the right words
and boy, am I good at that)
so I'm not much help
(I seldom am, I know) –
this humble Padawan
asks only that you carry on
showing me
how clever and intricate
and beautiful and wonderful
words can be.

Remind me why I keep writing –
that's all I feel entitled to ask.

Happy birthday to you –
can I call you friend?