by Darryl Price

It's weird to be here. I wonder if you 
are here too. You'd probably say oh that 
was years ago. And you would be right. But 
I like the things we believed in then. Some 
of them I still do. You're one I guess. You 
were so pretty and golden in your new 
bathing suit. And I was too skinny from 
smoking too much and eating too little. 
But I was always up for writing you 
another song. I don't know if we had 

troubled minds. We had aching hearts. And there 
didn't seem to be much relief for that. 
But still we laughed a lot. And we knew how 
to take care of each other. That's something. 
I don't like to hear the people calling 
other people monsters. It makes me think 
of broken mirrors. Trees full of them. Stars 
flashing them like knives. Windows on houses 
where no one has seen a living face in 
years. It's weird to be here, incapable 

of talking with you without missing the 
smallest things, except through a bunch of typed 
out words on a computer screen. I used 
to love my typewriter. The way it pressed 
each letter deep into the paper's dough, 
the crowded sentences starting to line 
up like chattering concert goers with 
thrills and unknown expectations in their 
eyes. We held hands once and it seemed like the 
only safe thing that made any real sense 

to me in the world. Now I'm like one of 
those guys walking alone on the beach, no 
big dog, no favorite frisbee, just a 
goofy fishing hat and some sunglasses. 
Not wanting to know what time it is, but 
being able to tell any way by 
the color of the sand and sea. You learn 
a few solid things and try to forget 
everything else. It's weird to be here. I'm 
still me. I wonder if you're still you. The 

you that was the most beautiful person 
in the room of beautiful people. I 
liked looking for you. And I liked finding 
you. It's weird to be here. Now is such a 
far away place to be. And here isn't 
much better. I wanted to say that I'm 
sorry, but I don't know what for. We had 
dreams that came and asked us to get into 
different cars. I didn't want you to 
go with them. I didn't trust them, but I 

trusted you. It's weird to be here. The world 
is still as cruel as a snake. It hasn't 
gotten any kinder. I hope it has 
been kind to you. Weird. But not so wrong I 
suppose. You knew how to smile. Everyone 
said so. I admired that about you. My 
crookedly round face could only try to 
almost get it right, feeling mostly out 
of place in every place, except when I 
was anywhere with you. Not so much a 

miracle, let them say, but we know, it 
was our little secret. It's weird. I made 
it into the poetry papers, but 
you're not here to read them. It's weird to be
here. It's not where I thought I'd be. It's a
rotten town everywhere you go. But I 
wouldn't call it a wasted life. We just
didn't know it would call us to leave each
other forever to the other side
of the moon. But I look up and I smile.