We searched for each
other in worn-down
blankets and fourteen
year old memories
sparked by oleander
candles and cluttered
sticker books.

Old versions of us
swam up from the
never-before-measured
depths of frigid salt
water and
broke
through the surface,
filling their tired lungs with
humid air and heavy skies.

Faded photographs

(the backs of which 
are tinged with captions 
that were neatly
scribbled some time ago
by hands now buried
in the earth)

made me want to see you
in every color, but the
black and white
of it all left me
tangled up in
a quiet, dark ember
of a feeling,
glowing steadily
brighter by
your sleepy
sheepish
grins and your
“oh no’s” and
“yes of course’s.”

That part of you
never went away,
it just needed 
dusting 
and an 
overwhelming
sense of peace
overcame me,
as if I’d known you
forever or maybe
just that—

No matter where you
go or where
“We”
goes,
you’ll always be
the shy boy in shorts
two sizes too big,
looking into
the distance
at something
you’d forgotten,
but that must
have mattered
very much.