so far

Nostos algos. A visit to a godfather, to beautiful poets, old friends, childhood idols, the girls I looked up to in the schoolyard, my prom dates, the first people I danced with, the first writers I both admired and considered peers. Remember when? When we met in town squares on the hour. When we were single. When we thought we were immortal. When we drove all night. When we were raging with hormones. When we cared about everything so much more. I remember.

 

The ache of homecoming. I have thought that I could remember everything because the memories I had were always so vivid, textures I could still feel on my fingers, I remember your hands shaking like birds when you told a story, I remember holding you from behind, resting my head in the hollow of your shoulder blades, I remember the taste of your skin. I remember the first time you fell in love and called to tell me about it; I remember your breath on the phone in the spaces when we didn't speak. This summer has been the realization that my memories are telephone poles, with long gaps of mere wire in between, where I trust that information is traveling until we come to the next telephone pole, solid wood I can wrap my arms around, splinters in my fingers. Why those memories and not others? Together we make a map of who we were, untangle the wires to avoid getting shocked, string our memories together. Ten years since we first met, twenty years, thirty. I was only fifteen then. I was never so young.

 

Pain from an old wound. It's lovely that we have grown up, richer now in most ways. If my seventeen could meet my forty-seven she'd be … happy. Surprised, I think, to still be alive, and to be so happy with life. The sadness that consumed me then is present, but a shadow only, and I keep my eye on it but it doesn't cloud my vision. And you, my friend. The same smile only with more lines around it, the same beautiful eyes but so much wiser. Our hands have touched so many more things, we have been burned, we have scars, and yet we are the same. We are strong; we have survived.    

 

The way you tap your finger against your mouth when you're thinking. Rub your ear. Hold my eyes with yours. I was a little in love with you then. More than a little. And still. I am glad we are both alive in the world.