It ought to be the plot of some literary masterpiece

Long ago

I looked within me-

Supposedly gifted,

With much aplomb but without remuneration-

Like the Bedouin woman reading our coffee cups

In the formal living room of an arabesque princess.

Looking to the future

Expecting direction

I found you.

But I was young and stupid

you were older and stupider

So we led each other on a merry dance

Each too proud to admit the other

All dances end when the music dies.

And so ours did,

With acrimony and recriminations.

Some months later

In the spirit of the first of September

You said sorry

I said why now

You said why not

We shook hands

To the world we were friends

To each other we were sparring partners

Somewhere I remember making the decision to be just friends

Because

Anything more would risk friendship

So we stayed friends

Through the arduous months and the halcyon days that together welded into years that went by too quick

You were the friend who made me laugh through a haze of tears when the he-of-the-day flouted my dreamy delight

You were the friend that was subjected to my attempt at playing Emma

You were the sound of reason in my flights of giddy anticipation

 

But yesterday

I looked into myself

Like the Bedouin woman who read our coffee cups all those years ago

The future is a series of tomorrows that doesn’t offer episode recaps to prepare me

My direction is not so clear, I just move with the spirit of the time

But like that Bedouin woman who read our coffee cups

I looked within me

And I found you.

It’s always been you.

I must still be young and stupid.