Full poem here.
There was that talk we had before you left one weekend, long and honest, secrets
steadily rising from hot bowls of clear soup, fogging up glasses that will always be
half-full. There was that smile you gave me when you walked me to my door one
evening, our pockets emptied of daylight and hours, and there is that smile you
always give me when I walk into a crowded room; I am still trying to figure out the
difference between the two. There were tired days, and quiet. There were growing
pains, things that sting but do not leave scars. There were those first flickers of
recognition, the winking eyes of oncoming vehicles. There was something we found
and decided to keep, and there is a slew of somethings further ahead, but there is
the middle and we have that; there is safe, solid ground to stand on. There is enough,
and often there is so much, and there is nothing that should ever make me forget.