I remember what it was like

to be lonely and 21 in Boston.

I remember, always in the fall.

When autumn winds blow crackling leaves

down an empty street at sunrise.

When the smell of diesel or an old building

mixes with cold unwelcome rain at dusk.

When I think of jumping in my old wreck of a car

and driving west until I can breathe.

Yes I remember what it was like

and sometimes it still hurts;

to remember an old friend

who you’ll never see again.

Written in response to:

Elegy with no one speaking