He was the best man at her wedding, on her side.
He’d taken her out the night before
friends from college hazed days and adolescent angst.
Soaking memories in tequila and a beer back.
Bad haircuts, boyfriends, and pierced places.
He’d always been there.
Through knobby-kneed scrapes from falling down, down, down
the water tower,
Grounded for “letting her” climb it.
Gum matted hair from blowing up, up, up
Guinness worthy bubbles.
Got grounded for cutting her bald on the left side.
Growing up worth the growing pains.
She’d snuck her first cigarette behind the gymnasium,
he held the lighter.
Wanted to tell her the glow set gave her face the cast of a misspent angel,
he swallowed those words.
First recital, her notes falling flat, stilted applause.
He grabbed her hand, pulled her into the bathroom. Pulled her brush out of her purse, pulled My Chemical Romance from her lips.
He ached to whisper the lyrics would be nothing without her contra alto. She sang and his world felt righted. Her voice breathed life into his soul.
He settled for her smile.
His toast was broken with him clearing his throat. Champagne hand shook, crowd mistook it for nerves.
For a mad moment, he wanted to grab his best friend,
spirit her off to a castle on a hill,
a beautiful spot in Italy where they
would throw their gluten-free diet to the wind.
To anywhere, but that moment.
Where he had to smile and tell the only woman he’d ever loved.
This was in response to today’s Reverie Journal poetry prompt on starts. I took it to mean, he chose to start nothing and he was left with a friendship, but wanting so much more. Now he’ll always wonder…
Let me know what you think about it in the comments. Please go over and check it out. Write something yourself!