Post Friendship

Okay, so you don’t get the sex.
That’s just one of those things.
You don’t get the upside-down pleasure
Of sweating it all out.

You don’t get
Those infinite, searing hours of discussion
Wherein ideas turn upon themselves and suddenly
make an impasse
Only to be brought up again over tea

You don’t get to wake up and think,
‘Oh. So I’m not alone after all.
Alright then.’

You don’t get to watch a sleeping man
Trembling, caught in a private nightmare,
And wonder if you will ever know
What his nightmare was about

You don’t get to be a brute
When you’re feeling down
Just because you can

Mind you.
You don’t get the reverse either.

All you get,
Really all it comes down to in the end,
Is a simple thing.
So simple it makes your throat clench:

Another number in the phonebook.

Another person to call,
When your chips are running low,
Someone else who knows you,
Who thinks you’re alright,
Who won’t spit at you when you dial their number late at night
And who
Above all else
Might possibly
One really far off day
Decide
That they loved you after all.