In the future, I will have already missed you
I can just imagine you on the subway somewhere real busy. You'd be sitting there with your legs crossed with a book's pages sprawled out on your lap, like how I used to be. The lights shining in your eyes so you're not really looking up, but your letting the warmth in. The seats rattle and you're looking out the window.
         Maybe I just want to imagine a place where you're doing better and you aren't so anxious all the time. Somewhere you feel successful and accomplished and like college wasn't a waste.
        More realistically I can imagine you sitting on your phone, headphones in, shoulders slumped, eyes darting. You're on your way to somewhere busier than before. Just for work. A life in the city wasn't meant for you, I know that because you told me. And I listened.
        You're probably wearing something that screams you're gay and diligent about this interview, or this daily commute. There's a stabbing pain I get from thinking about you. How truly independent you have finally become. Thinking of you now is like hoping we had something more. Wishing I meant more to you then. Wishing I had made some kind of impact on this stoic statue.
      I envy what you're like to the people you can't help but love, and I'm saddened that I never got to experience you like that.
      Lucky me, I'm never going to be the one you drive two hours for. I wish the short hours I gave you made you feel special. Maybe felt, something more.