Her dreams self induced
Bittersweet morphine
Her aura cleaned
I sit back in the nosebleeds
Tip the popcorn man for walking my way
He asks why I stay
I reply with the echoes reflecting off of the bleachers
“Sometimes I’m a student in the stands”
“Sometimes I’m the teacher”
He laughed it off and clocked out for the day
Went to his favorite park
The one where he remembered a spark
He tossed stale popcorn to the birds
A familiar voice he suddenly heard
Sounds accompanied by a silhouette comprised of nostalgia
It was the love that left him there all those years ago
He cleared his throat of awe
Next was to level out his dropped jaw
Only to conjure up the question
“Where have you been”
She let off a grin “I said I’d come back”
“That moment we met was a mark “
“But you were always the mission “
The popcorn man rose to his feet with more umph than he’s felt in years
The hair on his back stands
And he’s fighting back an Indian tear
He turned back to a view of the stadium from which he withdrew
Pointed to the nosebleeds where he and I conversed
Symbolically thanking me, he became immersed
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