I still remember
Your long hair
It fell past your shoulders
Onto your denim-clad back

I still remember
Your skinny jeans
Which fit skinny legs
And the bandana that always stuck out of your back pocket
I always wondered if it meant anything
Or nothing

I still remember
You smelled of cigarettes
Freshly smoked
Just before class
You put them out with the soles of leather shoes
They appeared vintage

I still remember
Your mustache was meticulously curled
Your fedora was brown
Like your eyes
which seemed endless
Full of depth a younger me never understood
But believed must be there

I still remember
Your voice resonated in dulcet tones
As you spoke of your love of art and music and Hunter S.Thompson
You owned yellow aviators
Because they reminded you of Fear and Loathing
You, too, were a writer

I still remember
Your handwriting was ridiculously perfect
For someone who regularly typed
I bet you own a typewriter
Somewhere in your collection of the old
And unconventional

And after years of never seeing you again
Except, perhaps, at a distance
If it was you I saw


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