Your old bicycle lay overturned,

where we used to ride.

Over the hill,

under the underpass,

through the forest,

to the spot,

where the deer sunbathe on a warm summer’s day.

Where we’d lie, and talk for hours,

for days, for weeks, for months, for years,

forever.

We kept nothing from each other.

Every detail about each other, we knew.

We could tell when the other was upset,

we could tell when the other was thrilled.

But what did it all mean, really?

Besides a meaningless period of time drifting in space,

a time that will never be remembered when we pass.

Were we friends just to cope?

Were we friends because it made life a little easier?

Or were we friends because I had things you didn’t?

Was your compassion fake, concealing jealousy?

Perhaps I’ll never really know.

I wish our friendship lasted longer.

It wasn’t broken, simply lost. 

You moved, my phone shattered, I lost your number,

I never saw you again.

I thought of you for the first time in years today. 

So I traveled.

Over the hill,

under the underpass,

through the forest,

to the spot

where we used to ride.

Where your old bicycle lay overturned.