Dear Friend (zone),

A little over two years ago, I fell in love.

(At least I think that's what love feels like. I was seeing in color.)

A year and a half ago, I decided to let him go.

("We're better off as friends," I told myself.)

A year ago, I found a window of hope: he said hello (again).

(What a pleasant thing to experience: to see in color--again.)

Six months ago, I was in darkness: she said hello.

(He was seeing in color while I kept my eyes shut.

I didn't want to see.)

And now I'm (still) in the gray.

But through all this, my dear, you've been there for me.

Tom had 500 Days of Summer; I've had 822 days of spring.

(Yes, it's because I've been sprung for that long.)

Oh, friend (zone)... my very, very, best friend.

I know you'll be with me until the very end.

Thank you(?), my dear, for all of the above.

Written with love (and a bit of hatred),

A companion (and victim)

Conscience

Two pidgeons slurred in pinwheels,
churned their voices into bubbling chyme
against the inviting and fuzzy coat of morning's light;
they spieled on different reels,
spewed wars of illiterate songs,
rampant at the threat of the afternoon's deathly heat.
They dropped music notes onto the concrete,
which broke in halves, wholes, and quarters,
and debated the duet they thought to be innate.
And, crusted by the dawn, flapped on, and on, and on.