You were the boy
with the black guitar.
I remember listening to you express how
you'd learn to play one day
and start a band.
That was once my dream too.
Not with you though.
I wanted to be the founder,
the singer,
the guitar player.
I couldn't sing,
and I definitely couldn't play guitar.
I still can't,
though I try to teach myself everyday.
I gave up on that dream
but you followed it
and made it happen.
You sat next to me,
though you didn't want to.
You touched me,
though you didn't mean to.
You apologized,
though you didn't have to.
Maybe it was then
that you knew you wanted
the relationship
we once had
as children.
Now you leave guitar picks laying around
for me to collect.