A great read from a very talented friend

The People We Used To Know

We fell, when fall became evening dew and sweaters,
sipping your mother’s tea to R&B inside.
School became an afterthought for our nights,
balancing bottles of beer on our knees
as I type out essays on crossed legs on your floor,
and you on your bed, strumming your ukulele.
We eavesdropped on the neighbors, the crickets that sang in the stairway,
routining together, behind closed doors
until one night I grabbed your shoulders, you whisked me underneath
then kicked the covers off the sheets,
let them lie there in the winter.

So we had a selfish nine months together.
the feeling when your roommate asked where you always were, after mine left
but we knew they all knew.

We ate sandwiches on mossy rock, scaled waterfalls and beaches,
zipped across concrete channels in our metal boats,
to warm beds in the summer, like tired migrants,
we adjusted our eyes: yours…

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