Some people just need a high-five.

That's what I decide.

When I leave the room of my last final,

Or I get the job I have been pining after,

I deserve a high five.

At the very least, I deserve a "well done."

Some recognition of my success, I suppose.

When I'm meant to remain humble

And brush off my achievements,

I just want someone to acknowledge that they exist.

I want someone to watch me for the little things—

For the conversation I initiated,

For remembering that little tidbit that you thought everyone had

Forgotten by now,

For each time I make you smile.

All I ask for is a smile in return.

A pat on the back, a hug, or

A grin in return, if the other options are too much.

I'm not being fussy here.

Give me a high-five.

After all, I'm still here.

Still living, surviving, and that

Is incredible.

I'm proud of you, you know.

I don't say it enough.

But I am.

Every time you remember to eat three meals,

To shower, to say your "thank yous".

I want you to know I'm proud of you.

I want to give you a high-five.

Is that weird? Too weird?

I wish it wasn't.

I'd give you a high-five right now.

Or a pat on the back.

Or a hug, if you'd like.

Do you think everyone should get a high-five?

Excluding the monsters, of course.

I think everyone needs one.

Will you return the favor? Give me a high-five?

Or will you leave me hanging?

— Carolina Mendes

I was asked to use the prompt "some people just need a high-five" in my writing club the other day, and while I'd actually liked what I'd written, I didn't wind up reading it aloud. This is my punishment, I suppose. Instead of reading it in a group of ten people, I'm posting it online for the world to see. The written word often makes more of an impact than the spoken one anyway.