I pulled you from my dreams, because we have yet to have this talk. I see your face has aged but your eyes are still the same. I know this took forever but here it goes. I still remember the walls in your room on the second floor of your parent’s home. I remember the bunk bed and your clothes scattered across the wooden floor. Tapping your fingers to your lips, as we guessed who opened their eyes first. All new and all exciting. Cigarette smoke danced from our lungs to our lips as we talked.  

We spoke of marriage and of death. The places we wanted to see and the people we had yet to meet. Those summer nights still feel like yesterday to me.

A never wilting flower, that remains in color amongst a field of gray. I’m sorry time gave us a test we clearly failed. But it’s still my favorite. Our hands remain apart, but our fingers stay crossed.