I miss the simple joy.
My fingers painting maniacally
As my mind drifts through
The possibilities.
I miss being the hero
From the stories I read
As I grew.
I miss the new friends
The ones I knew well
From the places I created.

We could have been immense
Writhing bodies
Singing souls
The headliner seething
Because we, the opener
Stole the show each night.

I miss being different
From the rest.
Uninterested
In their petty squabbles.

I made my mistakes
As you made yours
But the waters rushed
Under the bridge.
The only things
That matters now are
Where to go
What to do
What to see
Who to be
And how to live
My friend.