I heard his tale.
It was beautiful.
It is beautiful
But that was his tale.

I knew he didn’t
like the feeling.
I liked it.
Only for a moment though.

He offered a better
ground to stand on.
Mine was slippery.
I red carpeted.

Somehow, I was reluctant;
I was bruising.
My white flag was
high up in the sky.

And he came with
Trucks of friendship,
guns of smiles
and bullets of hugs.

But those eyes-
those eyes that sparkled
even in daytime.
Those eyes said so many in so little.

Those eyes gave promises
of wonderland,
promises of adventure
and of excitement.

But his face said
something different.
It fought with his eyes.
So evident a war, his hugs could tell his tale.

And when he hugged,
those hands, so firm and strong
held me close I could
hear the rhythm of his heart.

We kissed.

There was an explosion!

We survived.
Friendship isn’t lost.

We stand on this bridge.
Two of our four legs
on the friendship lane.

The other legs?
Memory will tell that tale.
This tale is mine.