L.

L.
This evening
Like every evening
Like every time I
think of you,
I walk these city streets
peering into faces,
picturing how time may have
aged you,
and hoping by chance,
I might see you.
I've sent messages,
a poem,
given your brother my regards,
and asked him to pass them on
to you,
with my email,
my phone number,
and the understanding, the freedom,
 to not reply.
I haven't heard back;
I don't know why.
You once wrote me
a birthday poem in green ink,
framed in glass,
and drew a tiger lily
on the page.
I remember perfecting flower freckles
in childhood drawings
with you
sprawled out on floors covered
in markers and endless sheets of paper
afternoon after
afternoon.
I remember sharing our secrets,
watching movies,
sleepovers,
dinners with our families,
the shore,
first crushes,
long school days,
then parting ways,
then not talking anymore.
Last year,
I saw your name in a cafe,
saw your shop selling teacups,
I read your blog like tea leaves,
trying to guess at the shape
your life has taken
years beyond those times we were younger;
I'm a stranger trying to imagine
the life of a stranger
who used to be my
best
best friend.
I consider
commissioning your words,
as though by syllables I could somehow see,
but I would fill rooms full of cabinets
with pieces of your haiku art
and still not know the story
of how things came to be.
I don't know what has befallen and blessed you,
whether my latest update is outdated,
whether you have escaped or evaded
what your mother once begged I help you away from
at a time when I was beyond helping myself.
I'm sorry for that,
and I miss you,
and I've felt lost sometimes trying to fit you
into the space in my little girl heart
where you fell out before I even knew
we were parting.
Well, sometimes writing brings realizations.
(How many journals did we fill,
learning the facets
of our hearts, minds, souls?)
And as I write I realize
with some giving in, and a sigh,
all I'm hoping
is
1) that wherever you are,
you know love.
2) that you're happy,
and able to say it, too.
3) that you're free  to come and go as you wish,
and to do whatever pleases you.
4) that you have changed in the ways you wanted to.
5) that you'll forgive me, if there's anything to forgive.
6) that you might think of me,
and look for me
on these city streets, too.
--
CBF, Aug. 28, 2013