Friendship

At this very hour of night reading theories reflecting memories in its rarest essence. I could not hold back myself from reliving something I still remember... 

When I was 8, she was 9.
All I remember her name was Ruby.
Every time, the window would open,
She'd come to stay with her grandparents
was a mere faultless indication.
And the afternoons echoed with giggles
and laughter through the window.
Her sister, Daisy was 8, and I was too
One day, I saw them playing in the room
They saw me too. I smiled at them.
We greeted hello, and I asked her name
I screamed out mine, and she screamed out hers
And the voice echoed in the empty lowlands
We would scream through our windows,
talk about our English lessons, Comics,
Mathematics and Summers.
Though we were an apartment apart,
I never really met her, on the avenue
I saw her enter, as I vented out.
Her hair was braided into two, I remember
she told me her mother was stern
and I did not know the opposite.
I did not know the divisions either
One summer, she told me her grandparents
had their house sold.
So we said our last goodbyes.
I do not remember If I was her friend
or she was my friend.
Sometimes some friendships have
true aberrant forms.