Growing Apart
A poem by Micah Boswell · music · love · aging
We were young once. Not just in age, but in the way we believed that nights could last forever if the music kept playing.
“Blue Monday” shook the floor. We didn’t talk much then— just moved, motion like energy exchanged, our bodies fluent in something we didn’t yet know would fade.
Later, “Cuts You Up” came on, and it did. But not the way we thought. Not the drama of heartbreak— just the slow erosion of knowing someone so well you stop looking.
Time does that. You wake one day on opposite shores, waving across a distance neither of you meant to make.
And still— somewhere in a grocery store, Camouflage’s “That Smiling Face" plays on a speaker no one notices. And I pause. Just long enough to feel the light from back then. Brief. Undeniable.
We do not curse the fading. That’s not the kind of love we had. But we do carry the ache of the echo. We are the ones who remember the song after the room has emptied.