There we were on my old and battered trampoline. Rolling around and cracking up until our ribs were sore from laughing too hard and our faces hurt from smiling too much. Every inch of our skin was jet black while our clothes had turned various shades of grey.

We, like smart little children, had rubbed Chinese calligraphy ink into our skin. Don't ask me why. We had this strange tendency to do random, crazy and rather stupid things like this. Like, we didn't realize that this stuff was permanent until we tried rubbing it off. Our day ended with us sitting in a little plastic pool, frantically scrubbing at our arms with these things you use to get grease off of pots and pans. Yeah. It was that bad.

We were tinted grey for a week.

Most of our summers, winters, and weekends passed like this. One day we were mighty hunters, chasing a poor rabbit from yard to yard, armed with sticks and butterfly nets, while the next day we were the paparazzi, and that squirrel up in that tree, like twenty some feet above our heads, was the president or some singer we were totally in love with. (I got really good squirrel pictures that day too…

Anyways, we went through lots of stuff together (most of which left us with nasty bruises, kind-of burnt back yards, and missing chunks of hair), but recently we haven't been talking much. Since we've "grown up", we stopped being stupid and crazy (for the most part) and we've found that we don't have too much in common anymore.

Now, we never talk, and if we do it's because our lockers are right next to each other in school or because no one else is online. It's really sad. And I know you're probably never going to read this, but Claire… I miss you.