(no subject)
Clinging to old memories is hard.
Harder when you’re not trying.
My hands are tired now.
I lose grip of the tattered thread
Conjoining our jumbled lives.
You dropped your end a long time ago.
It seems just yesterday we laughed together,
Sitting cross-legged in an acre of brown,
Splotches of green strewn about the misused field.
Your laugh was disjointed and broken,
But always joyful.
Joy was never far when I was with you.
Those memories are lost now,
Swept beneath the classroom rug,
Buried beneath the dust of a thousand bad custodians,
Buried in the sand surrounding home plate
Where you so proudly scored the winning run.
They have fallen into the 5th hole of the Calina golf course.
My ball will meet them there some day.
We never quite made it to the 18th hole
On account of my poor golf skills
They are spattered about the pages of our yearbooks
Where you so fondly scribbled,
“Have fun at you shitty loser prep school.”
You could have said “I’ll miss you,”
But you chose to hide your emotions instead.
Harder when you’re not trying.
My hands are tired now.
I lose grip of the tattered thread
Conjoining our jumbled lives.
You dropped your end a long time ago.
It seems just yesterday we laughed together,
Sitting cross-legged in an acre of brown,
Splotches of green strewn about the misused field.
Your laugh was disjointed and broken,
But always joyful.
Joy was never far when I was with you.
Those memories are lost now,
Swept beneath the classroom rug,
Buried beneath the dust of a thousand bad custodians,
Buried in the sand surrounding home plate
Where you so proudly scored the winning run.
They have fallen into the 5th hole of the Calina golf course.
My ball will meet them there some day.
We never quite made it to the 18th hole
On account of my poor golf skills
They are spattered about the pages of our yearbooks
Where you so fondly scribbled,
“Have fun at you shitty loser prep school.”
You could have said “I’ll miss you,”
But you chose to hide your emotions instead.