She Was a Stranger to Me Then

She smiled and four years fell away from her face.

Laughter and tears and memories of mine and hers

Vanished in a fraction of a second, sublimated to space.

And she was a stranger to me then.

Long nights, bottle-barrels aimed to our mouths,

We burned the angst away and molded wet ashes.

Long before those early days went south.

But I won’t forget those late night splashes.

And she was a stranger then. 

So full of my own expectations

She was barely human when

I first began lustful ruminations.

For her to be strange again is a gift,

Makes me feel an odd nostalgia:

Like a dramatic orchestral lift

In one of those songs we both love.

But in this moment, I don’t remember

That we love the same music.

That we kissed in Summer.

That we walked the same steps.

That we worked back to back.

That we read each other's books.

That we cooked drunk.

That we dreamt vivid and brave.

That we annoyed one another.

That we gifted and re-gifted

And took away and gave back

A thousand tokens of gratitude and love.

In this moment, she is a stranger to me

And I can’t possibly remember

(I haven’t met her yet in this reverie)

That we ever knew each other at all.

There are constellations of moments I would have missed

Had she remained, to the present day, a stranger.

And it makes me happier than I could have ever wished

To know, for a time, we were closer than anyone.

The earth takes a breath, daydream lost

And the remorse I feel in her leaving

Abates, for after our pathways crossed

She was anything but a stranger to me.