a dancer from the past

You know the kind of friend you have at uni, the one who was secretly in love with you back then (or at least you told yourself he might be), brought you icecream, told you stories that made your jaw drop, danced with you, kissed you as part of a fairytale, broke your laptop, went off to run a motorcycle club in Jerusalem.

I just reunited with that friend. His life is quite different now. He has kids, a Porsche and a terrible story. My jaw dropped again.

I won't kiss him again, but I do love him. (Not just because he let me testdrive the Porsche.)