Dear friend,
I dreamt of you today.
We were lunching at a restaurant.
Maybe with our wives or girlfriends.
Or not.
It does not matter.
You looked the same
like you did five years ago.
I’m guessing so did I.
But I can’t be sure; I couldn’t see myself.
Hey, it was a dream.
We hadn’t really decided to meet up.
It was pure chance,
two people bumping into each other,
two friends looking right through each other,
each knowing
and not acknowledging
the other’s presence.
I remember wondering,
in that dream,
if anything could have made it different.
Would it be easier
if the walls had our memories inked on them?
If the table had placards with our inside jokes?
Would it be easier
if our words could stay back
like paperweights?
I’d never know.
Maybe, this is easier.
This knowing,
that the other knows
that rivers change courses.
Photo by Steve Halama on Unsplash
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