before :: after

sitting in the art studio..
white walls, people's charcoal sketches tacked up everywhere,

a certain peace you can't find
in most places on this campus.

i just finish a conversation with one of my closest friends about him,
and think to myself, wouldn't it be funny if he passed by? because he's always in the studio...

and after i leave my friend and
take the first few steps down the cobblestone walkway cut through a lawn and patch of trees,

i see him coming at me out of the darkness.

i shake my head. maybe i smiled -- i forget.

he's looking down and barely notices me.
maybe he wouldn't have, except i spoke.

"late night?" i ask.

"uuugh," he's the one shaking his head this time. "yeah... you have no idea."

though i am sure i did have an idea, seeing as though i wasn't in bed until four last night...

"do you want to meet this week?" i ask, referring to our gang that gets together for a few hours and reads poetry.

"ummm--" he stammers. "when?"

"i don't know yet... i, i, well i'll see."

he says he probably can't. but to let him know anyway.

and so,
i guess i'll let him know.
i guess i have to.

i guess that's what's right, only.. with him, with this scenario, either all or none of it seems right.

it's a strange new ambiguity.

i have my demands.
i have my needs.
i have a right to make them;
and i will.

it's just a matter of when.