a photograph of my best friend and me.
we walked along those railroad tracks and you measured your strides to fit the sleepers.
i just staggered along the rails trying to hold my balance and tried to figure out why after all of these years i was so afraid of our shoulders brushing when i would lose my footing and fall into you. i laughed to myself and brought the matter to your attention. maybe because you're the person that knows me better than anyone but even in junior high, even in high school, we couldn't bring ourselves to sleep next to each other. i always drove home at four am and we never had some pivotal moment that brought us closer together, that made us cling to each other like we do our lovers. and i think the whole conversation made you just as uncomfortable as i so you lit up a cigarette and we kept walking underneath that overpass. talked like we hadn't seen each other in years. and i felt home.
you bought me a cup of coffee at the all night convenience store in town and we drove out to the woods and laughed like we were fifteen, creeping through some middle class neighborhood with flashlights and lanterns, looking for those abandoned buildings we were always too afraid to explore, and even now, at the edge of the walkway up to the door, we turn around and scurry back to the car.
we talked about the mix tapes we made for each other. we walked about how maybe the only people we can trust are the people that grew up listening to saves the day and going to basement shows and people that send secret messages in their mix tapes, too. and listen to the last fifteen seconds of one song and the first fifteen seconds of the other to make sure they sound okay together. to make sure it's poetic.
we laugh at ourselves and i think to myself what a fool i am for thinking just last week that maybe we don't have anything in common anymore. we share a history.
late into the night, i dropped you off at your parents house and waited in the driveway until you got in the house. and i knew that you know that means something. and driving through that quiet town, with the windows down and the radio so low its just a whisper, waiting at a stoplight listening to the low moan of the engine i realize that this, these streets, the railroad tracks, the trees, and sidewalks, and houses, and bridges, that school, the river, the street signs and names and each and every corner of this town are home to me. you are home to me.
midnight was always the hour spilled, and time always shakes us.
i just staggered along the rails trying to hold my balance and tried to figure out why after all of these years i was so afraid of our shoulders brushing when i would lose my footing and fall into you. i laughed to myself and brought the matter to your attention. maybe because you're the person that knows me better than anyone but even in junior high, even in high school, we couldn't bring ourselves to sleep next to each other. i always drove home at four am and we never had some pivotal moment that brought us closer together, that made us cling to each other like we do our lovers. and i think the whole conversation made you just as uncomfortable as i so you lit up a cigarette and we kept walking underneath that overpass. talked like we hadn't seen each other in years. and i felt home.
you bought me a cup of coffee at the all night convenience store in town and we drove out to the woods and laughed like we were fifteen, creeping through some middle class neighborhood with flashlights and lanterns, looking for those abandoned buildings we were always too afraid to explore, and even now, at the edge of the walkway up to the door, we turn around and scurry back to the car.
we talked about the mix tapes we made for each other. we walked about how maybe the only people we can trust are the people that grew up listening to saves the day and going to basement shows and people that send secret messages in their mix tapes, too. and listen to the last fifteen seconds of one song and the first fifteen seconds of the other to make sure they sound okay together. to make sure it's poetic.
we laugh at ourselves and i think to myself what a fool i am for thinking just last week that maybe we don't have anything in common anymore. we share a history.
late into the night, i dropped you off at your parents house and waited in the driveway until you got in the house. and i knew that you know that means something. and driving through that quiet town, with the windows down and the radio so low its just a whisper, waiting at a stoplight listening to the low moan of the engine i realize that this, these streets, the railroad tracks, the trees, and sidewalks, and houses, and bridges, that school, the river, the street signs and names and each and every corner of this town are home to me. you are home to me.
midnight was always the hour spilled, and time always shakes us.