Almost Like Ourselves

Even though I was the only one on the bus, you were there with me that day, as it bumped along compliantly, the windows streaked with green.

This way, miles away, can seem closer than our late nights in Old Orchard Beach. Pushing off ruffled covers, we were separate.

I could hear the ice clicking in your drink as your fingers taped out a story I could never understand. I sat on the windowsill looking out, blowing smoke into the fog.

Nothing reminds me of you more than that image in the dark.
The cold dock quietly beckoning for some company. Both of us the same.

The last night we saw each other, you found me pressed against the glass. You said to me, “I’ll race you there.”

These moments lend me flashes of you as I pick our flowers on nights when I can’t sleep. They leave me feeling filled, remembering a time when we were almost like ourselves.