Strong

She sits in the middle.

Not the focus of attention; she’s quiet.
Just in the middle. Where she can watch. And hear.
She laughs when the others are funny.
She nods in response to their words.
Her face doesn’t change much; maybe a small frown.
Or a raised eyebrow.

Only she knows what she is thinking.

I sit beside her and don’t speak.
I don’t have to. I don’t want to.
I’ll know if she wants conversation; she’ll start it.
I catch her eye—today pale blue, yesterday darker.
Tomorrow, even lighter.
She blinks, and smiles slightly, and I grin in return.
Then I return to my book, and she to her mind.

There is not as much talk as there used to be.
We’ve changed. We’ve grown older.
But I sit beside her each time.
She doesn’t ask for time, or attention, or interest.
She can take care of herself.
But she is strong. And she is safe.

She is strong.

And she is my friend.