Last night I dreamed of Trevor—
Of watching him go.
He was in a boxy maroon-colored car,
Rusty, dusty and old.
Someone else was driving, and
Trevor sat in the passenger seat
With his elbow propped on the door.
The window was wide open.
They were getting gas before leaving.
I wanted to go to him,
To say goodbye,
But something held me back.
I could feel the intensity of our bond,
And understood that we shared a strange friendship
That neither one of us would ever find
With anyone else.
It looked like he was waiting for me.
Casual and cool. Composed.
He didn’t know I was watching him.
What could be different if he knew?