Photo by Pixabay VIA PEXELS
I wish I had met you as a child. Carefree, small, imaginative you.
We would ride our bikes together through the overgrown trails of southern Ontario, screaming our lungs out as we scored rocky hills and splashed through streams. We would find snails and give them leaf mansions while being aided by your random knowledge of animals, helping our cause of the snail colony.
We would talk about shows we liked and show each other our favourite fantasy books. Shyly showing you my fairy treehouses, I know you wouldn’t tell anyone about it or even dare making fun of me for it. No matter how embarrassing my hobbies seemed, they were safe with you.
I would meet your siblings, still little babies themselves, and your parents would laugh with mine as we would sneak around the house hoping they would talk forever so we could play longer. I would show you my hamster Hammy, and I would list all the hamster facts I knew while you would listen intently and never correct me because I seemed to know everything about them.
You wouldn’t laugh at me at school like the other children would. You would always say hello to me in class and you would hug me when I cried. I would listen to you when your small voice would try to speak up and I would shush everyone talking over you.
Before all the anxiety and complexities of growing up, before overthinking and trauma, I wish I had known the base of what makes you. Your confidence, your likes and dreams, how you played games and what your favourite playground songs were. I envy those who have known you your whole life, for if I knew you since then I know for a fact we would know each other forever after.