now you, too, are gone.

it was not so long ago you were showing me that burned out stage by the river where the hobos had set up camp, with their porn magazines and other treasures. hat day, we were becoming the intruders as opposed to the intruded. we had come there, though, for a purpose that i know so well but can't seem to recall. i know we had both made up our minds about, at least, one thing. i remember agreeing with everything you said when you stopped smoking. i remember saying the same thing when you stopped stopping. i remember you said you would visit sometime during the summer. when summer came, and you didn't, i stopped stopping or something. and kept smoking. i was thinking to you in my head, "now you, too, are gone." and i secretly, still, hope you understand it now like you did back then. understand. when we left the stage, one of us said something about the hobos understanding our curiosity. i'm not sure either one of us has gotten over it.

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Written by

scott-swanger

American

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