You Thought Well of Me
The way old friends do - ABBA I'm at home for summer after a year of butchering myself. I've come home to be cherished and loved. I reach home safely, in the arms of my mother, I think, ah, you must have prayed well for me. When we share pieces of our humble dessert, My father cuts me a bigger piece, Then he goes up to the roof to harvest dragon fruits for me. I haven't seen the guys in what feels like decades. We are sitting in a cafe and we enjoy too much. Time slips away from us, like ribbons, like silk, like sand. Our days blur into a messy abstract, What feels like seconds are weeks that will never return. But I am there in the moment, and they last forever. The Jude to my Willem, or rather the Willem to my Jude, Sits next to me; sandalwood with hints of vanilla. Elongates our orders and makes us laugh, He remembers most and spills compassion wherever he goes. The smell of books and old cassette tapes, Little obsessions for great writers, and even greater artists,...