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.
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