Instead of

growing apart, why don’t we go

and see that film,

the one that’s been delayed,

in the cinema that’s closed. We’ll sit

on the grubby seats

that are always sticky

and never recline,

and I’ll say It’s been a while,

and we’ll laugh about how bad we are at keeping in touch.

When something shocking happens, I’ll lean over and

whisper about how I saw it coming

and my arm will brush yours.

On the way out,

you’ll say It wasn’t the best

and I’ll agree. Perhaps you’ll skip

the last step as we’re leaving,

turn and look at me like you’re

Tom Cruise doing a stunt in Mission Impossible.

We’ll walk home

and the sun probably won’t be out

and it will be cold

and we’ll complain.

When we get to yours

we’ll hug and wave goodbye.

I won’t have to close my eyes to remember your smile.

When I get to the end of your road,

I’ll turn.

I’ll see you lift your hand and wave again – 

but I won’t give it a second thought

because I’ll see you again tomorrow.

Image Credit: Bora Rex.

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