Do you remember one day I came over, and we sat and we drank tea and we talked and we laughed just like we always did, me, feeding you anecdotes, you a heap of bright laughter. I can’t remember how, but we got onto feminism, somehow. And somehow in all our years of previous friendship we’d never talked about that topic which is so pertinent to both of our existences.
In those subsequent hours I saw a side of you I’d never seen before, a steel strength, a burning and fiery intelligence, a way of looking at the world through new and angry eyes, eyes that said I will not, I will not tolerate, I will not be silent.
We couldn’t sit still, we were so burned up with the fervour of a common cause, a desperate similarity - we opened ourselves and found the other in glorious symmetric reciprocity and we walked and walked and walked and burned with injustice and we burned together. Afterwards, when you took my hand and we ran, you, brave and brilliant, shouting at cars who dared to impinge upon your presence, and me in stunned and awed silence, I thought - look at you. Look at how wonderful you are.
Later still when we were back in the comfortable safety of your kitchen with another cup of tea, and we hugged and congratulated ourselves and I sat on fire with promise and excitement and a new philosophy, a new bravery, and full with a fierce pride for you who had grown so much and changed so little, and I thought - this is the person who I want to spend the rest of my life with. My partner in crime, my symbiosis, my confidant, my mirror, my astral twin.