the last time i was on manhattan
your fingers rubbed arnica over me.
with gentle compassion
your eyes stared into my skull,
with fierce protection
your wine numbed our shock
with soothing tannins.
with stained skin and bones scarred
i carried the silence too long
and you let me speak.
we have always let each other speak.
for twenty years
through first loves, first heartbreaks
first highs, first depressions
first babies, first albums
first homes, first deaths
first careers, first breakdowns
first acts, first curtain calls
first firsts and more firsts.
i have always felt heard,
i have always heard you.
we have been young on highways,
shouting at the wind with pink lungs.
we have been older on desert mountains,
starving for oxygen and solace.
in this moment,
i'm looking at you across a rooftop that overlooks Manhattan.
there will always be distance.
but we are survivors.
this friendship is prolific.
