George Green

it doesn't hurt so much when I see your picture
as when I happen to walk down the library corridor
just you and I explored

ignored by the hordes of studying/sleeping university students
picturing myself as part of a prospective cohort
I rushed around taking in all the sights and sounds
excited about a brand new adventure
imagining what it would be like in two years' time
trying to picture the future, not knowing how much would change

I hurried around each nook and cranny
you followed at a markedly slower pace
what I wouldn't give to go back,
walk beside you and savour each step

worn out from walking
we sat at the library cafe and enjoyed a sandwich each
we didn't speak (or not much at least)
but I basked in your presence -
that feeling of guidance and security
from having a familiar and fatherly figure
to accompany me on these foreign expeditions

the surrounding chatter of the crowd
masked my quiet admiration
I felt safe watching you
munch your bread serenely
crumbs trapped in your thick moustache
eyes framed by black horn-rimmed glasses
staring into the distance,
deeply lost in thought
what a perfect moment,
so brief I had almost forgot
how I wish I had told you then
what I still can't find the words to say
and then the moment passed
and we left our seats behind
moving onward to meet our next appointment
but sometimes I still find you there
along that single library corridor
just you and I explored