There were words floating across the room, and I am more then certain that the speaker would have wished to be doing anything else then uttering them aloud. They were words of confession, and vulnerability. I heard in them an imploring for the hearer to be worthy of such a trust, to stand by them no matter what. A shy fear echoed in the undertones, and you could tell this was a world shaking monologue. But, for a five year old, many things are world shaking.
I'm not so brave as that little girl. Terror of my explanations being inadaquet, of my words being misunderstood keeps me from offering any. Same reason I'm ashamed of poetry I've written, as if I'm far too untilligent to write anything comprehensible. Same reason I'm too self concious to dance, clumsy and awkward. It would be so rude of me to place another in a situation where they would have to respond to my ungraceful attempts at expression!
In the end I held my little girl in my lap, her head burried in my shoulder, as she finished explaining herself to her friend. And I'm jealous of the simple aid it offered her. I wish I could burrow my head in the jacket of a friend, comforted in the trust of loyalty through it all, while I expose my reasons, my desires, my beliefs, my life.
"She told me she won't be my friend anymore..."
"But darling, you can sit with me."