Like the Summer we spent on a curb
doing everything for the first time.
Like persistent text and voice messages
you kid yourself you’re too busy to give a reply.
Like the accepted invitations late on a Sunday
when you need one more drink before it ends.
Like friends that pass a blind eye or join in
when it’s not even their taste in sound.
Like colleagues and flat mates that listen
to every little, tedious detail and smile.
Like discreet phone calls made to loved ones
on pretend trips to the toilet at a bar.
Like other runners looping the park
who can barely breathe but smile back.
Like that feeling a person’s right there
however rarely you get round to speaking.
Like the quick Post-it note left on a fridge door
by someone before they’ve gone away.
Like an absence of self-consciousness
because there are no filters these years on.
Like the grip and fixed stare of a commuter
worlds away inside of his book.
Like the times you’re convinced of a truth
but are shown alternatives by a reliable source.