52 writings

iii.

you're my best friend
and I mean it
four hundred miles
i cried for thirty of them
mourning the wasted hours
you wouldn't understand
you weren't there then
melancholy and the sweet feeling of success
over imaginary monsters walled in
by a daffodil-colored duvet in the cold wind of winter
we conquered our enemies
and made new ones
but we climbed the mountain
and overcame the sprawl