I could be the wiser and not see what is before me.

I could try but I know I can’t.

For before me, I see a new you I never thought to see in a long time.

As you sit there, doing what you knew best, beyond what others would say.

And all with a smile, that has linger off in a fade memory.

I miss it, I miss you.

The person I looked up, and poof you were gone, never to be seen again.

So odd of how long it’s been, since you walked out, never looking back at those who hated your dreams.

But you told me to hold onto mine, even though, they couldn’t be mine from the start.

Yet, I held on, changes were made, but the gist was still there, along with your words.

And now, a second chance.

Could I; walk up to you, greet, question of the passing years, and still not beg for something more?

A risk it was, and before I knew it, we were toe to toe with one another once more.

Growth was kind, I almost tower over you, and sadly it’s how you forgotten who I was.

Before I called out to you, a hand out to shake, and a smile that felt loved but force.

With wide eyes, no hands shake, nor hug, but a pat on the shoulder was something.

Winds rose, quick words to head in and chat were said quickly, as the snow started to fall, heavier than before.

Back inside, hot drinks in hand the moment we could.

We sit, in short silence before it finally breaks.

“It’s been while.”

No reply, only taking small sips from the drink.

“I have really missed you.”

A grunt was given.

It was something.

“Almost eleven years and I see you have done well.”

Lying, but the smile stays in place, eyes only looking beyond what long bangs hided, into eyes that once hold jokes and joy.

“I took your advice. I guess you could say we’re neighbors in some regards.”

Finally the eyes reach and they are hued in muted blue sadness.

My only reply was that it was for the best that everything was working out and I went for it.

Life was a rough design, wormed with holes that just went on forever.

I never asked what you could have been up to, because we both how reaction would have been.

Call it fair, for you never asked me also.

Chats were short and blunt, but they were better than silence.

Those of an older life are never brought up and those who were meant along the way, never come up.

The snow falls forever more, as the chats become even shorter.

“I would never ask you to come back, be to give you pity, just knowing your still alive. Is all I care about, you dork.”

Those eyes brighten a bit; again, the small things matter the most in times, like this.

You finally asked how I have handled this life.

I have handled nothing of it and just let flow along.

You call a simple mind that stills nothing but a child.

As were you, when you ran off in the middle of the night, weeks before you should have a moron gene we both have.

To at least we know that weight upon us is equal, but I will never tell you.

Snow lights up, drinks almost empty, and chats longer than time.

Dying in a way out of hands, from emotions and not blood loss, again I never ask you to come along.

Your path and my path were just lucky to cross, if so again, likely in a body bag.

Just like mother and father, but again, something you’ll never know nor how I would be able to say it.

The problem that made you run is no more.

The troubles that have haunted us are gone and we can live in peace and not the streets.

The pains have weakened to where we are only numb.

We have finally found hope and you want nothing of it, even now.

You have never changed, stupid but something I have loved about you.

“Going home was never a goal, to force to do or having to own.”

An undemanding fact really, but oh well.

All that is left now knows will winter be fair for the runaways?

Chances slim, but how we come to like them.

In time, the chats are done, empty cups littering the table, and us two leaving.

Parting ways, not even saying goodbye, for if we don’t, they not be our last words.

Hopefully . . . that will be the case, just this once.

But now, as we part, we again don’t look back.

Nor come to see that place we meant in time, would also be our grave.

Not now, oh no, life still has things to throw our ways; we are not even close to being done.

Not even an iota!

But that spot is what it is, our grave.

Family on the streets, getting by, through things that never to spoken of, never . . .

Yet, sadly in time, you’ll know, growling for blood.

Spilling my first than yours, because that’s how the chain was made.

Was it though, I’ll know, for you shot first, if another happen or you run.

Is all I know, as that place becomes a grave, in a place, that will be lively dead.

One thing I forgot, I should have done you in first, because there is always more than one blamer.

But I took the high road, for the sake, I know you make it quick.

And thankfully you did.

Thank you, wherever you are, in this place that became our tomb for life.

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