The Violin Boat

Our friendship started with a story,

Really:

When we cradled our violins

And swept our bows through the air,

Giggling as we peeked into the holes

Elegantly arched through the wood,

And imagined smoke stacks

And a pond,

And Misa;

Misa,

The heroine of both 

The Violin Boat

And our friendship,

Who found her way back to the orchestra room

The better friends we became,

Climbing the staircase we built through words

And truly ingenious ideas,

Like using a bolt as a calculator,

And a flute bullet train;

The strange little ideas we discussed

While you tried to teach me poi,

While we grinned at mini anything,

While we simply wrote:

You, tales of pangea,

Me, the story you made me believe

I was capable of writing;

I think there’s still traces of your style

Within my own,

Still characters

Sprouting from Misa,

Still certain phrases

I’ve picked up,

Even though our staircase

Has reached its final story;

All good things must end,

You told me.

Not that I believe it.