learning how to be okay with it

by Sheridan F., 15

when we were little,
we rode our bikes through the alley behind our houses.
we played in the garden
and acted out stories in your room.
we soaked in the sunlight
and tossed away our shoes so we could feel our feet in the grass.
in the stories we concocted, we were heroes.
we were two little girls, side by side, convinced it would be forever.

now you’re gone,
and i’m learning how to be okay with that.
i’m becoming a woman,
and you will be a girl forever.
i’m getting taller,
and you will always be the same height.
in my memory you’re a little girl-hero,
and it kills me that i’m out-growing you.

but what comforts me is this:
if i go into my backyard and shuck off my shoes,
run through the weeds and let the sun bath my skin,
you’re there.
if i ride my bike,
you’re there.
if i write a story,
you’re there.
maybe i’ll never be a little girl again,
and maybe we were never heroes,
but growth doesn’t have to mean leaving you behind.

my life has become more than i ever imagined back then.
i have become more.
i watch my life fill and expand,
a million things in front of me,
a life made of what once was and what is to come.
maybe i can live it for the both of us.

Washington, D.C.