Sunday

I catch up with an old friend

On Instagram messenger

Slightly hungover

No pressing matters

It is the day for things like this

 

It is such a small interaction

74 messages back and forth

But it holds so much

Somehow we compress years 

Into a few hundred characters

 

I joke “don’t forget me”

And he replies “never”

And I feel oddly emotional

 

In these brief 20 minutes

Our minds meet midway between 

Surrey and Sicily

And we dance together 

Between space and time

In pinkish purple messages

 

And then suddenly we stop

“Speak soon xx”

Parting ways once more

I brace myself for a few more years

Of forgetting

And hope for another perfectly hungover Sunday

Like this one.