January 22, 2015

Tandem lives, not parallel, but
Perpendicular, weave together
To form a pattern that no one
But God herself can see.
Your breath forms a cloud
In the January air, and even
Now I can remember your
Face behind the haze;
Lips pursed, just to one side,
A smirk that I have become
So accustomed to seeing
Slowly comes into view.

The irony of our connection
Is not lost on me: it is only
That which keeps us close
(Not geographically) that
Separates us still today.
There’s not a soul alive
Who could testify to the
Uncommon bond we share,
And yet, here I am again.
One day, we’ll meet up
Over a pot of earl grey,
And our stories will rise
Into reality once more.



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