I realized the other day that
before we know it, you and I will
be nothing but memories and it
stopped me in my tracks.
Someday you will be in grad school,
lying on your own floor instead of
mine, and your wife will be
in the bed you share and she won’t
even take a picture of you or
laugh at how silly you look and she
won’t know if your thesis
calls for a “whom.”
Someday I’ll be startled awake
by a vivid dream and the man sleeping
next to me won’t even stir
when I sneak into the bathroom
with a pad of paper and a pen to write
about the brown-eyed boy who
still haunts me. I’ll read him
verse after verse and he’ll keep
telling me that he doesn’t understand
my metaphors and I will spend
my whole life wondering
why I wasn’t right for you.