i guess you could say we’ve made it.
now it turns out i do have business
knowing where you wound up:
a state away, once again,
at another stage
of our lives.

and sometimes i wonder
if we’d ever have business
being in the same place again.
someone could invite you or me
here or there, or to some regional thing
that neither of us really wants to attend.

i’m your age now, or what you were,
when i told you something stupid,
and all you could ask was why.
but if i saw you again,
maybe i’d say, my
dear, i was sick.

wouldn’t that be a shitty answer?
imagine if i liked you
because i was sick.
no, that’s not why
i said that i liked you,
but it is why i was a shitty friend.

i know i made it awkward,
not for wanting to fuck you,
because i think we were still okay.
no, i know i made you uncomfortable
in an hour on a friday afternoon,
when i told you i was scared.

you could give a fuck,
but you couldn’t help me.
and you knew you couldn’t.
i think i knew that, too,
but i was so desperate.
oh dear, i was so sick.

it’s not an excuse, but i’m sorry.
i wish you could see me now.
when you last saw me,
i was on a thread:
determined,
but fragile.

so i wish I could tell you i’ve made it.
i imagine telling you i’m okay now,
with or after a drink,
in a bar or in a car,
if we ever have business
being in the same place again.