The Beatles song "Imagine Me and You".
Those yellow high school halls. My unsent letter.
The airport where, five years ago, you flew
back home, from snow to beach tequila weather.
Red sweaters, cargo pants and woolly mittens.
Your birthday – every year I know your age.
The Valentine's Day card I might have written.
Your e-mail address and your Facebook page.
The candy hearts you scattered on the floor,
the books you read (I really miss the chance
to argue with you over Michael Moore).
The salsa beat to which you used to dance.
I see someone with brown eyes on the bus.
Inevitably, I remember us.