for an eternal season

“What was your first impression of me?” she asked,

and I paused in the middle of the busy, chatty street,

paused in the middle of our sunny autumn college days,

and racked my brains for the correct answer, like I always do

and found this task harder than it seemed.

Because I thought of friendship and emotions

like mathematical equations and historical fact

only to be stumped by the realization that

there was no concept of beginning or end with her

like the ∞s in my Pre-Calculus graphs,

just her constant presence and light in my life.

And then I remembered something

that cut through my reverie like a butter knife

“I didn’t think much of you at first, to be honest.

I didn’t trust you much. I didn’t think we could be good friends.”

I laughed. And so did she.

The answer had always existed in my mind,

how could I have forgotten?

Still I asked her the same thing, knowing her answer full well

“I thought you were a nerd,” she replied.

I laughed.

For the first time I felt secure and proud at being called a nerd,

like she had dismantled the walls of stereotypes,

of thick frosted glasses and glittering braces.

She didn’t have to say anything

about the hard work and long hours

––She was there for many of them––

participating in the long circuitous debates

on political affairs and pop trends

long enough that I knew she meant what she said from her heart

And not a place of judgment.

For those times have gone by,

The version of me that misread, misinterpreted,

misjudged, and misunderstood

and grew miserably at others’ passing comments

is gone, or maybe never existed.

For I have no concept of time anymore,

or of beginnings and endings,

just little bursts of infinite moments in time.