It rained on the day we went up to the mountains. It rained and we stayed in our car for the most part, eating takeout from a nearby restaurant. We planned to eat it by the waterfall, but our sandwiches would’ve been soggy. We sat parked on a cliff-side, overlooking the mountains, the greens and reds and oranges and yellows of the treetops swaying gently with the breeze. We sat silent for a while as we took in the overwhelming feeling, the largeness of it all. We ate our takeout, but we didn’t feel worthy to be there in all the beauty. This moment was bigger than us. And I remember you said quietly and defiantly, “Someday, this will be home.”
It was warm
I felt whole
you smiled at me
and I knew
I’d be alright.
We’d get through winter
and all its cold nights
and we already got through February
and for some reason
it’s warm today
and we’re sitting outside
drinking pink lemonade
like it’s summer already
and you look at me
and you smile
and I smile, too
and we know
we’re exactly where we should be.
And I didn’t think I cared as deeply as I did
but when you left and I was alone
I would give you
if given the chance.
When the sun is about to set
and your face is illuminated
with an orange-yellow glow
and the world around us is, too
and the grass is green,
the flowers are blooming,
the smell of spring is in the air;
we have made it through winter.
The window open,
a newly cleaned room,
a cup of tea
cooling on the windowsill.
With nothing left to do today,
I relax and enjoy
the smell of nature,
the sunshine peeking in,
my cup of tea,
and a good book.
And someday we’ll find ourselves in different places, in different homes, with different lovers and we’ll decide to reconnect. Maybe we’ll see each other on the street, or someone will mention something that reminds us of each other, and we’ll reach out and we’ll reconnect.
You’ll tell me about how you’re happier now than you ever thought you could be. I’ll tell you what I’ve been up to and you’ll listen. We’ll make jokes and remember what it was like when we were once so close. We’ll wonder why we ever drifted apart, conveniently forgetting what happened between us that day when we thought the world would end. And I remembered it for a while, and I cried for a while, but I got over it, and I got over you.
But it wasn’t like I didn’t think about you, and it wasn’t like I didn’t look for you when I went by your old house. You told me you moved two years ago. I’ll say, “has it really been that long?” and you’ll say, “it’s been six years, man.” And I’ll feel sad. And you’ll feel sad. And we’ll agree to stay in touch, but I’ll tell you I’m only in town this week then I’m going back to the city, and you’ll look at me like you’re proud, and I’ll feel like crying.
And in that moment, I won’t be able to even think about what broke us apart. I remembered us staying friends for a long time. And we were there for each other through everything. And somewhere along the way, we separated.
We’ll be reminiscing about our conversations and I’ll be surprised by how many details I remembered, and then I’ll remember that we stopped talking because of something so stupid and so trivial that I laugh out loud in the coffee shop. And you’ll ask me what I’m laughing for and I’ll tell you. And you’ll look at me, chuckle once, and shake your head.
“Foolish,” you’ll say, and I’ll agree.
and I thought it was funny at the time
the way you tore down everything I built
and I remember I laughed
when I caught you in yet another lie
and I remember thinking
I’d be better with you in my life
then why am I thriving now?