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Pokatiaviti

I had an imaginary friend growing up. A boy just my size, with jet black hair and silver eyes. He'd show up most places when I was alone and more often than not, scared of being alone. 

He'd come sit by my side and brush his small fingers through my hair as he hummed a soothing tune. I found comfort with him, but when someone else would join me, he would choose to leave me. He never spoke. 

The last time I saw him, he spoke and gave me his name. 'I'm Pokatiavati, that's my name. Call for me when you need me...' was all he said as he walked away. 

As I grew older I'd call his name hoping he'd come to me again. He never did.

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