916am. 20th august, 2020

sweet man.
you dearest, sweetest man.
sweet and seeing my sweetness
nothing hidden, not even in the beginning
because friends don’t lie
Friends don’t hide things from each other.
I don’t want ours to be the kind of relationship where we hide things from each other.
no matter what they are.
there is nothing you can tell me that I will not hear.
you only have to tell me.
it’s all I ever ask for.

there is so much to talk about, always.
so much to share, to discuss.

it is this part that I miss the most, the talking
the hashing over
the intricate and meandering conversation.

I love listening to the sound of your voice,
your passion obvious and enchanting
as we talk about everything, and nothing

although nothing is nothing, is it.

9:19a, 8 august, 2019. The Colonel, revisited.

I don’t know why I thought it was a
good idea to see you
i didn’t think
didn’t realize.
that letter i’ve been carrying around
in this the back pocket of this book?
the one i told you about
the one you read out loud
lying next to me in that delicious bed at the Thayer
that lovely, decadent, secret enclave
our tiny fort within a veritable fort
i didn’t realize that was from two years ago,
from Before.
So much has happened, so much.

when i got home from seeing you yesterday
i took it out and read it again.
remembering being enveloped in your embrace
hearing the depth of your voice reverberating in your chest
as you read it.

feeling yesterday this edge this
knowing now that it will never be the same
and grieving for that, too.