It all started, when buskers were learning wonderwall, and we would meet up, for a night. Students, learning about our subjects, hoping to break hearts, whilst protecting their own. Individuals, who by twists of fate, of time and geography knew each other when we were trying to be anyone else. Over lager and pretentious drinks that only the young can get away with, we will sit and remember all of the teachers that we tried to forget, spreading Chinese whispers about other friends, knowing that the truth was so much more boring.. The pub is decked in cheap tinsel, the type that Woolworth’s used to sell, and we realise that we no longer have that much in common, except for the past, and we all remember it differently. The landlord rings the bell, the old dog barks, and it is time to put another ritual to bed. So, as we say goodbye, and walk out into our city, the one that is so slowly dying, because that is what happens when councils put their ghosts ahead of their citizens, knowing that some of us will be back next year, and some of us won’t, because that is what happens to friendships. The Moon hangs thin in the air, the darkness is dappled with diamonds, and once more, all of my school-friends are strangers.
Ben Macnair is an award-winning poet and playwright from Staffordshire in the United Kingdom. Follow him on Twitter @benmacnair