Throwback Thursday

You know what I miss?
The simple days
of aimless buses and trains,
like magic carpets
that helped us to escape,
if only for a little while.

I miss the endless walks
that led to hours of
strip mall shenanigans--
spinning in desk chairs,
petting that little blind kitten,
and reading anything
from cheesy joke books
to Frost's melancholic verse.

I miss cheap deli lunches,
discounted coffee house milkshakes, and
midnight conversations on the swings
at your old elementary school,
with the moon so bright that
I could see your T-shirt.

Remember that time when, hot chocolate in hand,
we followed the sound
of live fiesta music
sailing on the hollow winter air
until we nearly crashed
a Hispanic family's party?
Or what about the moments
of heartbroken silence
when we discovered
the ruins of a piano
at the church
that was once your daycare?

I remember climbing, barefoot,
halfway up Ricky's fence
to watch his illegal fireworks
and stealing Mom's car
in the dead of night,
just for store-bought Chinese
and a movie rental.

I'll never forget
the long nights we spent
tossing and turning
under the same roof
but in separate beds,
lulled by crackling phone static,
until the light of dawn
saw us nestled in close.

A thrill rushes through me now
as I watch you
from the passenger's side,
with my hand on your shoulder,
hoping you can hear our story
in the song I'm singing,
because I hear it
in every word.