Good Guy

What’s the point of landing early if the gate’s occupied. What I mean to say is I’m in a rush to get home this time. That’s what happens when you let space and time exist between you and your short list. Of people you care about and not just because someone told you you should. Mom keeps reminding me to be careful with mine. My list I mean. I know she’s serious about it because she takes a seat. Her words are soft but heavier maybe you would recognize it. More weight than she normally allows I can feel the difference when they fall from her face to the floor. She holds my hand to finish her thought maybe to make sure she feels it sink past my skin. The lights are low in here but I can ­still see my baby brother’s face from across the table. He shaved his beard down not all the way but you can really see him now. He seems happier or maybe it’s my perspective or perhaps there’s just less obscuring the view. He’s a good guy like the song you know the one I’m thinking of? Your phone said the sun was going to set at 4:48 tonight so we rushed to make it. It slips away and right in front of your eyes if you look away you might miss it I don’t want to miss it. Am I three or am I 30? We both forget and right now the sky is orange pink red blue seems like there’s a bit of each hue lighting up the horizon I hope you see what I can see. We watch the sky fade blue to black and I’m wondering if you saw it too. The pacific ocean pulled us back to our spot and I’m wondering if we ever left.