“It’s hard to impress me with chicken,”
you say, grinning as you scan the menu.
It’s the same smirk you had when we were sixteen,
when we used to ditch our last period,
wandering the halls,
talking about everything and everyone.

Your hair is still that soft gold color too,
glowing when the light dances along its strands.
Your eyes—still the same ocean blue.
And your smile. That smile.
It never changed.

We haven’t spoken since those years.
After graduation, we drifted—
college, jobs, and time distracted us,
as life pulled us in opposite directions.
The years added up,
our messages faded,
our daily calls stopped.
But to me,
our friendship never burned out.

Now, here we are—
In this quiet, half-lit restaurant on the edge of town,
ordering unimpressive but comforting chicken,
with soft jazz playing in the background,
like an old memory we’d forgotten about.

You tell me about your new apartment,
your new puppy that’s been a handful,
your dream of quitting your job and moving somewhere warmer.
I listen to how adulthood has treated you—
I nod and understand,
because I know the feeling too.

When the food finally arrives, it’s still steaming.
You blow gently on the chicken, taking a small bite.
“It’s okay,” you admit, laughing a little.
And I laugh too—

It wasn’t the meal that brought me here.
It was you.
Radiating like you always did.
Still golden, still glowing.
Still home.