The last time I saw you, we were burying a mutual friend by virtue of metaphor. You had apparently walked out of a closing shoppe with a borrowed jacket so hopped up on pain pills from a previous night's motorcycle accident that you didn't notice until later. I was torn between being elated to see you and disappointed in your theft, no matter how unintentional.
You were the one who feared for my sanity, what with my anti-social tendencies. You tried to change me outwardly time and again. I fought back. A thousand tiny victories. A thousand tiny defeats. There were things I did just to shut you up. I wear marks of your passing upon my flesh, making no effort to hide them.
As time drifts by, I question whether our orbits will transect ever again. I'd like to think we've both made our efforts. It is said the road goes both ways.
The band played one of those songs that gets me to think of you. You know the one; you'd see to it we had tequila at the time. Hearing it, the memories come back. I wonder how you are. If you're even still alive. I miss you. When the band played the song, I held up my bottle and smiled ever so bittersweetly, thinking of you.
"And if your bottle's empty
then help yourself to mine,
Thank you for your time
and here's to life..."