A Toast

A Toast

We lived like monks
in that tiny sunny house.

I gave you the only bedroom
and slept in the living room.

On the phone you said
stay there.

You moved all your possessions from your father's house
and arrived in the driveway at dusk.

A search and rescue team,
you found me,
alone and weepy and lost
in an incessantly sunny city.

You had one bowl and one fork
and ate the same thing every day.

You jogged and wrote.

I went to work and drew.

At night we went to the bar
escaping the boredom of the neighborhood,
and drank
and played darts
and danced with everyone.

We laughed a lot.

You're snoring filled the house.
A frequency that found me in the dark
and anchored me to the living every night.

And maybe you never knew this, or maybe I never told you,
but that summer,
you saved my life.