Word balloons encasing
yesterday’s dialogue and
soft tones and thick, black
pen strokes
sketched our world.
Those comics of
pounding the scorching concrete
with worn-out sneakers,
guzzling soda, and
laughing at inside jokes.
I reread that chapter where
the ’80s punk rock lyrics
and erratic sound effects
were scribbled in
the music store scene.
And every other panel
we fought
humorously or not.

Those pages of
birthdays,
study sessions,
fights,
friendships born or broken
are now behind protectors
and shoved under a bed.
Left there
To grow old and yellow
And later ...
thrown away.