Of all the people I don't think about anymore
you're the one i miss the most
The last night we spoke
I knew the combination of words
I could have said
to make things better again,
but I didn't.
Autumn in DC, the only season there that showed
the leaves were every color of the rainbow
against the steel grey buildings,
but then they fell
and everyone started feeling as naked as the trees.
Me, I'm too much like America on September 11
the bombers are dead,
and i should just start rebuilding
but without a plan.
I fell into every memory I had of us
knocking over the dinner parties
and manic baking marathons
every time you got stoned and I watched
and every glass of coffee you made me
on the mornings after,
burrito picnics in Dupont Circle
punk-rock shows on the edge of town
and the night we chased the moon all the way down I-66
to West Virginia
and didn't come back home till the sun was coming up,
tired and dizzy,
using each other like blankets
until it was warm enough to breathe again.
I think about Yom Kippur and you,
the way I stop some friends on the street these days
to ask forgiveness,
and the others I pass by,
like people at a party that you don't talk to,
breezing by them like last season's fashion faux-pas
like you've said everything that needs to be said
or like you've never met them in the first place
and you'd rather not, anyway,
pretending theyıre not
even there.
September, 2002
August, 2002
July, 2002
June, 2002
May, 2002
April, 2002
March, 2002
February, 2002
January, 2002
Can you write better?
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