Lonely Sad You

Before there was ever a me
or an us,
there was a you.

A sweet sad you.
A lonely you.

And now I want to talk to you more then ever,
make sure you are okay,
rub your head and
just hug you with the purest of intentions.

But there is just a you,
and a me
separate from so many other things

I wanted to cry today for you
but I couldn't.

Remember that time we danced under the stars,
the wind swept my bangs across my
pale cold face and you kissed me
through my hair anyways?

We both had hair stuck to our lips and
we laughed.
We laughed so damn hard we cried.
Then our abs began to shriek and holler
because of overuse

and laughing was overwhelming
and breathing took concentration
to make sure we stayed stable
and didn't drink too much,
or kiss too much,
or just down right play to much.

We sure did love to play
like kids hearing reese's bells and
grasping those fifteen minutes of
immense freedom and joy

gaining calluses on our hands from monkey bars
and running to flip off of tree stumps
and kicking the soccer ball for the final goal before
the bell.

Remember those times
when it was us
and not lonely sad you
and lonely sad me?

Good times.
I think I'll pray for you tonight.