Write about your friends and how growing old can’t be possible. Never say I lie because our hands are always intertwined and we can’t cross our fingers. Laugh about the time we stumbled home on a Tuesday. Cry that some of us can’t shake the habit. It all changes and some sense of finality looms over me like a permanent fog. I try to see through it but I get lost every time. It’s dangerous and unpredictable and terrifying. Sometimes I’m close to that edge- so close that I can fucking feel the drop. But I rest my head on a cold surface and remember how fun the nightfall used to feel. How laughter and ending girlhood and all those things weren’t scary. How we reached out without wondering who would fall first. How I trusted that we’d catch each other every time. Now you tuck your hands behind your back and that’s okay too. I bet you still cross your fingers when you tell a lie. -AMT