We would be the oldest friends, like we were friends when we were still trilobites and amoebas swimming side by side in the ocean. Such old friends who got beached on the rocks together and found each other bits of moisture beneath the heat, for centuries, while next to nothing moved on the horizon. Who held onto tenacious strands of seaweed against the harsh ocean currents, then floated to the top with the bubbles and raised our bellies to the sun. We who could laugh with the sediment of geologic time, who have been so many ages together and are always born anew between the reverberations of past times and present moments. We are here together now. There is a lace curtain dancing above the head of the bed, letting in light through the undulating parabolas of its hem. That old new light. And the vestiges of oceans in the corners of our eyes. We have learned from when we were mollusks and we lined our cramped quarters with pearl. We learned from when we were birds and soared swiftly from the carnage. We learned from when we built the great cities with perseverance and precision. Together we can be as big as everything. We can access all the joy of the ages and bring it to the present moment because we've never parted. Oldest friend, I have written you into being, which makes me fear that you can evaporate so easily. But I can summon you at any time. I want to make our illustrious histories real on the pages of cheap composition notebooks and backs of grocery receipts. I want to take you with me to doctor's appointments and intimidating encounters. Other people may call you a fantasy, but we know our friendship is a portal to a much bigger reality than the anxiety and despair we're supposed to cram ourselves into each day. We'll have lots of adventures dumping sack-loads of starfish onto linoleum floors and disarticulating the bones of all the old, hateful stories.
Stay with me somehow, always.