brownian motion

and yet the other night i found myself humming
the tune you once wrote about on a scrap
of notebook paper, the words running
through my head like tape in an old cassette

we don’t talk anymore and yet by habit i still
edit my photos the way you showed me,
pushing around the highlights and shadows
until details crawl out from beneath the pixels

we don’t talk anymore and yet you’re the reason
i absentmindedly tap morse code on desks, the reason
my singular spotify playlist sounds that way, the
reason i know boa noite means goodnight

we don’t talk anymore
―and yet i had the time of my life fighting coding problems with you
―and yet i learned to loose arrows with fingers steadied by you
―and yet i miss―

we might not talk anymore but we are billiard balls
crashing―splintering―nudging against each other
and even though our tracks may never meet again i leave in a direction
ever-so-slightly different―

for better or worse i am those i lost
and those i left behind