Untitled Poetry

Twenty Five

To David, my dearest friend.

I remember all the stories you told me.
All the dreams you had for yourself.
You were going to be this big hero,
This man that had everything.
A blue eyed sweetheart that was big in the world,
On top of everything,
With a woman to love,
Kids, potentially.
A nice house to live in,
A car worth showing off.
You were going to be a race car driver nonetheless,
But doing exactly what you loved.
These were the dreams you've had since you were a child, the dreams of your ancestors before you.
You were going to BE someone.
But here you are today,
No job.
No money.
You tell me you are nothing.
But you ARE something.
To me, you are
E v e r y t h i n g.