I always made fun of you for getting your words tangled behind your toungue,

for keeping your car cluttered, and being a little too "good" when we were young.

But you calmed my tears with your bubble laugh

and you dared to cross the planks of wood with me,

over the rivers in every storm,

in the town where we got tired, got tired of growing up. 

And you set off my curiosity like the match you used to light your cigarette. 

We’ll always have that,

bubbles and bridges and childish wishes, now

won’t we?