Note For A Friend Poem by Jack Otterberg

you texted me a lot— about
sadness and other things—
I wrote a poem to soothe yours,
or to attempt such a feat.
back in Newspaper class
I thought you'd bully me—
or I, you.
and perhaps love is the meanest thing
to ever birth ecstasy.
so perhaps it was needed,
as you need him— or have found
him already,
in that coiled sliver of your heart,
basking in love's mean gravity.
I'm glad you found your part
you've scoured for all your vast existence.
and I wish you the best.
but some unrest
gnaws at me
when I look at the ground
just to find I'll never discover
that same unreal dream.