Dear Friend,

Yours is a warm hand on a cold day

And letting go of it 

Is the end of a good dream

I feel it in everything

In the fraying cotton I spin

In the onion skins I peel away

In the crossed out letters I tear apart

My hair reached the small of my back 

The last time you saw me

It’s almost as long again

Two, no three haircuts have passed

I’ve grown up and so have you

But in split-end directions

If you care to know, I still haven’t had a nosebleed

And now, I have a taste for wine

Send me a postscript if you want to know the lists that have grown in your absence:

Dreams

Disappointments

Fears

Heroes

Enemies

Future baby names

Albums to sing to

Bad jokes I’ve laughed at

And if not, adieu. 

Until we meet again.