I see you standing there, on the other side of a bar made of bamboo and wood,
idling away with that scruffy, brunette beard of yours,
left unshaven like the men who first roamed the Earth,
just as you’ve chosen to live in a place untouched by the strange wants of modern men.
I think of you and imagine what might have been,
had I stayed and ran away from the life I’d chosen,
to live in a simpler place, with simpler rules, and simpler days,
Would it have been enough?
You permeate my headspace at the strangest hours,
with a frequency I dare not measure or acknowledge.
Your face seared deep into my memory,
though only a few dozen words ever parted our lips.
My mind fabricates elaborate fantasies,
sometimes I can’t tell whether they’re real or imagined,
but my favorite ones are always the ones where you’re standing there,
on the other side of a bar made of bamboo and wood.