I wait at the entrance of a bar
A brewery, a drinking hole, a place alive
Dreading the meet to come,
I’d rather be someplace else.
Someplace else with friends,
comrades, keepers of my soul
Fragments of my fellowship
Friends with broken arms
Friends chasing stories
Friends who feel ghosted
I’d rather be there instead of here.
Here the hope is that there will be
a story for the evening
To move beyond borrowed experience
and have some of my own.
So when I meet my dear friends again,
there will be a tale to tell
An evening to narrate
And belonging to feel
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Featured image credit: Roman Arkhipov/Unsplash