SHIT OFF HIS SHOES

We drifted apart, stopped calling each other and meeting for drinks. One story I like to tell is it happened because I moved over here, that it was too far for either of us to visit. But I did visit every Friday, maybe I was too drunk one time too many.
I wonder if he said anything about us to anyone or just cleaned the shit off his shoes.

THE FIRST OF MANY

‘I love you,’ I told him once when were stoned on mushrooms and playing with tarot. The cards came alive and would speak to us in those strange voices they have.
We kept them in a box an eye carved on the top of the lid, an elipse.
‘Remember the two circles and laughing til we cried?’
Truth is? I miss what we had, making things together, then I said, ‘I’ve had enough,’ and he said, ‘Okay,’ when I needed him to say, ‘No,’ and help me fight my envy, the urge to destroy what is good in my life.
He wouldn’t have known that, not then and since we don’t talk…
I’d like to apologise, ‘Sorry,’ I’d say taking responsibility instead of blaming him as I’ve done for so long…and he’d be the first of many…