One of us just walks away…for good.
I have your number for a time, your new address, a few memories of your face with the back drop of new walls, your new home in this odd and unfamiliar little town where I worry you’re going to work yourself to death.
It’s been a while since we talked, since one of us drove the 60 miles one way to say “Hi”, to have those familiar conversations in the living room. The long evenings where I later write a poem and you write a song, bent thoughtfully, bent beautifully over your old guitar. Some day you’ll know how to play like you know how to walk, I can feel it.
One day it would be 195 miles to say “Hello” because I moved too. I’m starting a new life, running really, because that’s what I know how to do.
I think your name one afternoon, dial hopefully. Then that recording, that familiar voice, disconnected, no further information is available about…
I don’t know your mothers number, my only hope to find you. You don’t know I’ve left our town. I know I won’t see you again.

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