Old Friends

Old friends, old friends,
Sat on their parkbench like bookends
A newspaper blown through the grass
Falls on the round toes
of the high shoes of the old friends

Old friends, winter companions, the old men
Lost in their overcoats, waiting for the sunset
The sounds of the city sifting through trees
Settles like dust on the shoulders of the old friends

Can you imagine us years from today,
Sharing a parkbench quietly
How terribly strange to be seventy

Old friends, memory brushes the same years,
Silently sharing the same fears

It has been some time since I’ve seen a good number of people. In feel that in the past 5 years I have changed quite a bit, and the road that brought me to where I am has brought many people across my path. I have parted ways with a good many of these people. Sometimes we drift apart, sometimes it is a bit more severe. If there is something that i have learned during this metamorphosis, it is that you can always make amends. At some point, the angst, anger, bitterness, pettiness, shame, grief, and stubborness will subside, and you’ll realize that you stopped talking in the first place for some silly reason that doesn’t matter.

Talk to an old friend.
Give them a hug.