I remember the days of driving back from SAT prep. It was on the other side of the river, your side of the river. On those unholy sundays I was filled with a listless longing. I ambled at the gas station
or maybe that stoplight on Patterson Ave, seeing you for a second in the face of a stranger. At dark I rode with the windows down dedicating songs to the night, all in your name, the reverent word.  

You’re just like an angel, your skin makes me cry

I avoided crossing the bridge back to where you were not. Where ribs of artificial light fell over me
from the lonesome headlights. Those songs fading out around the impenetrable night. And I, slinking down, felt that quell of hope ebb away as the idea of your face became more like a dream.
You were untested, you were perfect. Your hair stuck up and you wore a grey zip jacket.
I marked every glance in the school hallway, my blood struck by those dark roving eyes. I mentioned your name with those first sips of ***** on my lips. I still taste you there. In that blooming period, springtime, when I felt a beckoning towards a becoming of sorts. I saw myself the way I’d be in the impression of your mind, a man’s idea of me. I think I knew our souls were similar,
maybe just by the way you walked or closed your eyes sometimes. I found you in everything, I filled you into the empty spaces.
I loved you then, as a stranger.