Today, someone (who also knows
you), showed me a picture of you
as a baby. Clutching a biscuit.
Wearing what appears to be a
frock full of frills. I can’t tell if it
was pink. The photo is black and
white. Just like our love affair was.
You hold that biscuit in your tiny
hands. All your fingers fit on it.
Exactly how you held me once.
Everything fit. And I was clutched.
There is an immense sadness in
realizing that I never knew you
as a four year old. That the baby
talk was reserved for lovers.
And not for friends. (Which is
what we are now. Apparently.)