seventeen

Do you remember when we were seventeen?

I would write you poetry

folded up on lined school paper

torn from math workbooks that would have remained empty otherwise

(let’s be honest)

They were words I was too shy to share elsewhere

but craved sharing with you

You.

You were boyish and awkward underneath all that schoolyard bravado

you seeped soft praise and told me I was special

oh, so clever

You understood me.

you were exactly as you are today

except now you drink more

Me?

Well.

I had too much energy

all crackle and whip

You?

You understood me.

you were exactly as you are today

except now you drink more

these days I don’t write words for you

except for in my head

when I’m on the train

wondering if you ever think of me as much as I still do you

You.

In the early hours when you’ve had a few

I hardly call anymore

Is that bad?

¬†I suppose, it’s because I miss you

but mostly because

I’m worried my cleverness hasn’t amounted to much at all

and your high hopes for me were in heavy vain

all these years later

I still so badly want to make you proud

You understood me.

(I wish you’d drink a little less)

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