ol' army

I choke on old habits like calling you 'babe'.
There are nights when insomnia plagues me
and the only salvation I can cling to are late night conversations
we have about theology on rooftops.
You get up early in the mornings to run, but you don't mind,
although you tell me you miss bearing the flag of your faith,
holding it above your head like some lost beacon for hope.
I am sure you miss tradition as badly as I do.
There are those among us too new and doe-eyed
to remember anything but construction tearing us down.

I have become accustomed to pacing your corridors
alone at night, staring out of windows that are barred
just in case someone decides to build character
through defenestration, but I must confess;
I am tired of watching what I love crumble before my eyes,
and there are days where I am tired of missing brotherhood,
but tonight, all we can content ourselves with
is setting this town ablaze with the sunrise.
So much for camaraderie.

(I know you can't help but wonder,
and I ask you to quell your fears; he treats me well.)
Though you may worry that he will break me,
not much can match the way your steely resolve
once grated against my willpower. While I value you,
I must confide in you that I no longer miss it.
I have outgrown your love in the same way the bricks
we used to walk under, hands intertwined, all eventually fall.
Until then, we can do nothing but part ways at Sully.