this wasn't our first time
at the waffle house
sitting across from each other
staring out the window
at fading car lights,
astigmatism placebo running rampant
(or maybe just greasy windows).
  this wasn't our first talk
about you wanting to die
sometime late at night,
we talked for hours
the week before this,
tears, sweat, and trembling lips.
  this was our first meal
we shared together at night
after hopeless thoughts
in late december
before your brother's wedding.
  this wasn't the last time
we'd see each other again,
or order the fully loaded hashbrowns,
or talk about suicide,
that would come in time.
  this is the first time
I've thought about this memory
and have been grateful for your marriage
and how far you've come
from eating garbage at 2am,
from wearing the punisher hoodie I gave you,
from drinking mike's hard lemonade,
from feeling lonely and hopeless
and wanting to end your life.