how and when who reaches out
to whom,
when friends become
acquaintances
and then memories and why or
how.
how each one is defined by
an idea,
an action or (re)action or
(in)action –
mine as much as anything
else.
how moments are carved in
time
with an image more or less
accurate,
perhaps even true. perhaps
even clear,
and not just shadows cast on
the walls.
one could make lists of all
the crazy things
we did, all the stupid
things we said,
all the bullshit and bravado
carried into the present and
held
near for in(tro)spection.
one could.
everything remains too
close, i think.
i think about the
relationship
between my declining
capacity
and my many regrets, or
maybe friendship
is a muscle that loses its
elasticity;
the way that nostalgia is a
trap
we always seem to enter
even though it stands very,
very still.
regardless, i miss them in myriad ways.
