when you write a poem and it’s still true 2 years later

I still look for you on every subway ride,

hoping I’ll find you somewhere between the red and green lines

of Boston’s arteries, each passing moment has become about

searching for you. I’ve been waiting. Every bus is late.

Every train is stalling. I swear the stops are getting longer.

Still hoping I’ll get there, still hoping I’ll get somewhere.

Still hoping we can ride this out.

By now, everything reminds me of you. Like the way home,

I could never forget you. I’ll always leave the door unlocked.