The friend who used to be so close

The friend who used to be so close
can't take a hint. You used to talk
for hours, always loving it

But you're in different orbits, now.
Ok, you used to be, as well - but that
was easy to defeat by reaching out,

and so you did! The both of you,
so grateful for this voice and view
from nowhere, such a sudden fit.

You needed it. And it went on
and on - a rock. Dependable. A feature
of your life, somehow. You wondered how
you'd done without, and didn't want
to think about it all.

It just made life seem possible
in all these ways it
never was,

just running through
each other's lives and bouncing
back effect and cause. Saying things
too true,
so great to catch between
and dote for days, congratulate
yourselves upon.
Then let pass by awhile -
as if too cool, but throw it out again
some months gone by and still amaze,
the reference caught and tossed
anew, a play with ever-changing rules,
a game with never-changing roles - a secret

club

whose secrets everyone should know,
They're really missing out. So obvious

but just for us, somehow.

nothing ever

changed,
nothing
happened

to explain the loss
At some point someone felt a twinge
of bad, not reaching out enough

At some point someone felt not in the mood
to bound and pounce through wondertown,
and making life seem possible in all these ways
it never was.

At some point friendship turns into a thing
for feeling bad about. Bad for luring in
another one, for feeling stupidly impressed
how good you make each other feel you couldn't
do without, or ever tire of this.

You didn't. It just stopped being
what it is.

It was your
escape. For both
of you. But life has ways
of sucking life from our escapes

We realize that we're still trapped inside
a life made bearable by all the ways
that someone makes the possible
seem real, in perfect sudden fits

that never really change how we
fit into it. Because we don't.

That's just the deal. But

it used to be so nice to make
each other think we did.

It wasn't always a mistake. But now

The friend who used to be so close

still reaches out
a time or two, by months
and years, as if
to try to start the play again,
where it left off. As if the game
were not called off, just waiting for
another turn.

You both
know very well

that nothing happened,
nothing changed.

But it's as if they think
that that's ok.

In lives with really, nothing more or less
to bounce around between

two strangers growing strange.