Maya

Maya, a towering 5'10" at just sixteen years old, never quite fit the mold of what people expected from a girl. While other girls her age were experimenting with makeup and talking about crushes, Maya was more likely to be found scaling the old oak tree in her backyard or covered in grease from tinkering with her dad's motorcycle. Her wardrobe consisted mainly of oversized band t-shirts, worn-out jeans, and sturdy boots, a stark contrast to the frilly dresses her grandmother often tried to buy her. We used to be inseparable, you and I. From scraped knees on the playground to whispered secrets late into the night, you were the one person who truly understood Maya's world. But things shifted, subtly at first, then more definitively. Life pulled us in different Now, she has Max. He's a quiet guy, a year older, who shares her passion for classic rock and doesn't flinch when she talks about engine mechanics. They met at the local skate park, and he seems to appreciate her exactly as she is, tomboy tendencies and all. Seeing them together, laughing over some inside joke or working on his old skateboard, a part of me aches for what we had, but another part is happy to see her so content.