4 years ago,
you met me in New Jersey.
I was working the Super Bowl
and I had a hotel room all to myself.
Trepidation and anger
kept us from embracing,
and at first you refused to sleep
in the same bed as me,
even after we made love.
But I threw a fit,
wanting what I wanted,
and you joined me
through the night.
I was there for a hard week,
and you came back for a second night,
where we made love more
and didn't argue about beds,
just holding each other like lost fools.
This is one of the best memories
I have of us,
and I know it's lame
but I still miss you,
and I hope you read this.
I am in Minnesota for the Super Bowl,
writing this is a lonely hotel room,
wearing that red knit beanie,
still crooked.
And I know I have said
that I wouldn't
write about you,
but I can't help it.
Call me pathetic,
call me whatever you want,
dedication is endurance,
and the music has crept past us.