I’m writing this so you know I didn’t forget
about those nights we spent and the hours
We talked and roamed
Driving those old haunts
A sliding scale jaunt
I have notebooks scrawled with hieroglyphics
Doctors handwriting and declaration style script
Aging like a fine wine
Waiting to get discovered
Like some archaeological find
A thick musty manuscript
A tome of alchemical drawings
Atlas shrugged and we fell off the horizon
A tumult we ended the cult and jaded we sent the tall order of calling each other through the gesture based rectangles we carry
It was on my mind this separation and as I went about my day, doing the regular tasks of self maintenance I felt as though I was mirrored in my isolation by the knowledge we were most likely both doing something similar
If it’s all the same I’ll leave all these open ledgers