I remember when we met, In Mrs. Bial’s class in the fourth grade. We weighed the same, shared clothes, And walked out, arm-in-arm, From Fourth Grade Promotion. You stuck with me through Middle School trauma, And I held your hand through your rough times. We cried over our promotion song, And planned a trip to the Caribbean. We walked at night down the beach, Laughed and cried over far away guys, Ate foreign food and did the limbo, And watched the sun set on our last night. Then she came, and our time was gone. Now you’re with her. You laugh with her, share secrets with her, And invite her over on the weekends. You don’t even notice me, Leaning against a bathroom wall, Crying softly to myself. You don’t notice me, Sliding to the floor, And wishing in vain, To go back to the fourth grade.