(Play in the background.)
My old friend.
It is so good to sit with you again.
It’s been nice to see you around,
among gatherings of mutual friends.
I’m glad to know you’re doing well,
surrounding yourself with people
who believe in you
the way you deserve to be believed in.
I know we’ve had our differences,
you and I.
I couldn’t even utter your name
for a full year.
I just … I felt like you’d abandoned me.
I once called you my favorite word
and my greatest ambition.
Perhaps it was all too much,
the pressure too high.
I’m so sorry.
Cynicism and I …
we were so cruel
to scoff at your purity,
to call you naïve.
To glance back at you with those pitying eyes.
Thank you …
for moving toward me again.
I’ve felt you approaching for a while now,
tentative.
I’ve been afraid
to embrace you again—
to let you in again.
But …
Fuck it.
I want you back.
I want to skip through golden meadows,
swinging our hands,
singing off-key.
Let the others laugh
and call us naïve.
Because we know the truth.
We have something they want.
I have hope,
and hope has me.