When He Writes

We remember what we had in common

All the little things we do

So much like one another.

Time always stands still for a little bit

While we talk about everything

Yet nothing at all.

We give backhanded compliments

Teasing at our response to them.

We don’t talk about relationships

We don’t want to know

About any of that.

We talk about years ago

When he lived in that shack

The one he remembers hating.

Then we talk about when I lived in that shack

The one I remember hating.


When he writes

The world stops

And I have a friend

That remembers me

Loves me

Makes me laugh

And reminds me

Of how whole my life is.


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