The last time I saw you, we were sitting on the edge of a bed, shifting our feet nervously, going through papers. You didn't look so different at all. Though maybe leaner. I wonder if I too looked leaner, older, or wiser. You didn't tell me either way.
I kept my hands busy in the kitchen. I was afraid of becoming distracted or telling you how much you had changed my life. Sentimentality is all, we're still friends, and we can see one another whenever.
The Pioneer Valley isn't that far away.
I slept with my foot wedged in between your back and the couch and woke up feeling aged. The field outside was frosty, and my body ached from the lack of sleep. You hardly stirred as I peeled myself out from the back of the couch.
I walked away clutching a railroad spike like it was my last living memory.
No comments:
Post a Comment