The Return: In which I skirt the issue of my negligence of duty and post, of all things, a poem

I haven't been here in a long time, nor have I worked on the idea I promised myself I'd continue to work on.  I've finally reached a balance in school, where my interest in the course is matched by the level of difficulty I'd expect from a college class.  That is to say, I'm finally learning stuff, and it means actually doing work and keeping on top of things.  Unfortunately, that's rather harmed this story idea, as I now find myself very detached from it.

I've contemplated putting it aside and moving to a new project (perhaps going back to an old project and reading it with new eyes; a novel, yet highly unlikely prospect), or just gritting my teeth and pushing forward.  However, in thinking of this, I did what I do best, and got completely sidetracked by other thoughts.  I got to thinking about the parts of my past that I am grateful for (though few, they shine), and I got to realizing that I hadn't just left the bad stuff behind, but some really good things too.  People, for the most part.

I haven't written a poem in, oh, five years.  There's a long story behind it, which I may put on here one day (short story: was expelled, thought insane).  I've always veered away from poetry ever since.  The following is, I suppose, a poem, in that it isn't presented in an essay format.  I hate writing poems; they feel like I'm just slopping crap together and passing it off as actual work.  Also, I'm horrible at making rhymes that work to get my message across.  So, don't look for rhymes or any actual poetic aspects; shit, I was actually pretty proud that I followed a line structure.

It doesn't have a proper name, but if you want, you could call it My Friend:

We walked for awhile, talking little, saying much

There were laughs, and sighs, and quiet nods

The scenery mattered little, for it always changed

A park, a forest, a lonely road, a familiar room

It was not where, but what; not when, but why

We were two interpretations of the same idea

Each independent, each unique, yet akin

Master plans and sinister plots were hatched

The problems of the world solved with ease

We were as foolish as we were intelligent

He was an attentive ear; a wise mind

A moral guide; a creative aide

Time robs us of much, slowly stealing away

I didn’t notice what I’d lost until I looked

Not gone, but veiled in nostalgia

I still walk, often alone, thinking and imagining

It’s never the same