The Hidden Circuitry of the Margins

Around the time I started writing,
somewhere around freshman year  
of high school, I met some people  
who would become some of the  
best friends I ever had.  One of  
them was from California.  
 
I thought that was real cool.
 
He was a long haired, surfer/skateboarder.
 
His mom took a liking to me.
 
*   *   *
 
She was an intellectual with lupus, who seemed  
To enjoy talking with me.
 
I remember, during this time, I would have such  
Deep conversations with all kinds of people.
 
Perhaps it was an intellectual awakening.
 
I read an article, discussing how people  
who have no siblings tends to develop in unique ways
as they tend to interact, predominately  
with adults.
 
There is something to this, perhaps, as  
members of my family talked to me like  
an adult.  Just today, my mom was saying  
that I was always like a counselor, even  
as a young person.
 
It means a lot to me if I could have  
something to say to someone that might help  
them, or, give them beautiful energy.
 
*   *   *
 
I remember talking to my friend’s mom, while she was bed ridden,  
her illustrious  
blonde  
hair  
tracing the contours of her face.
 
She said I reminded her of Kahlil Gibran, giving me her copy of The Prophet.
 
This was the first time I encountered a book,
with writing in the margins.
 
The book was from a college course that she had taken.
 
I remember the sound and sight of her fingertips, as she passed me the book.
 
And with each marginalia, I could see her fingertips, at the margins,  
 
Thinking thoughts, in a time and place in space -
 
Expanding into the space and place of me, in that time, like  
 
[Timelessness  
touching  
finger tips  
with  
Time]
 
Through the hidden circuitry of the margins.