I've got a person in providence

That little scruff of hair at the back of your neck and the shorts (too short and too tight according to social norms, just the way you like it.) You are a conflicting memory, a kid with a bandana and a glint in his eye or the boy with the glasses and lightest touch. It's been a million miles since I've seen you and my how your smile has grown. My brain stretches states wide and I finally think I understand your wanderlust revisited. You've been on trains, on dark station pathways and in your eyes I see rivers and oceans and the faraway look of a child who forgot about home. But you came back and now, in the swampy August night, you tell me that this might be a nice place to live, here at the crossroads. I say, I could live on a boat some day and what I mean is, do you miss me? I've been up and down the coast this year, and out west too and my internal measurement of time and distance has changed with the hours I've traveled. I see more and feel less and can fall asleep on anyone's backseat.

It's August again, the fateless month. The thunderstorms arrive steadily, the downpour as right as rain, regular and quickening. It's been two years since we discussed our personal sagas and I know we grew up together but does that mean we will grow old? I sit for hours on my kitchen floor with you and I am about to leave this place again. We always hug and hold too tight and I never know if we're in love or afraid we'll never see each other again.