Philos

I miss the hookah lounges
smoke curling across the ground
around our legs
like a fog machine in a haunted house.
I miss holding a cigarette in one hand
a cup of coffee in the other
walking back to your church-home
to talk about God or school
or whatever else came up.
I miss dancing,
closing my eyes and losing everything to the beat of remixed 80s music.
I miss the late night talks,
early morning walks;
eye contact and smiles.
The introduction to fedoras
and white guy rap music
and a love for poetry.
I miss my best friend.
But we grew up in a year--
I moved for a career
and you for school and marriage.
It was never a passionate love we shared--
it was something else,
something deeper.
The kind of love that looks beyond scars to the person underneath,
the kind of love that makes you siblings of choice.

9.1.2011