If we met back when we were kids, how much of this would have been reversed?
How much of anything could have been changed instead of living in stasis?
If I keep guessing with these “what-if’s,” will it change your mind?
Take your time: waiting is a game we play for all our lives.
I’ll spend my freedom on some empty words and self-assurance,
arm-in-arm with my brothers-and-sisters in arms:
Lovingly twisting each and bending until we break.
There’s no telling when the tension is going to flow over.
We’re trying to push the envelope until we tear it to pieces.
I’ll wait and circle around like a shark;
my esteem is low enough as the ocean floor.
Every moment I’m hoping you’ll be back for more:
Think of the nights nestled in cloth with a vinyl disc spinning lazily,
our hands intertwined, spun in silk so delicately.
Think of the days in the sun with songs erupting from our hearts
and the rays of color refracting from the sky between our eyes.
And if you think of any more, will it become real enough for me touch?
Or can I just think of it myself and cover for you?
I’ll trick myself into thinking it’s not my loss to count
during all those times together with our brothers-and-sisters in arms,
closer and closer every day as we cope and laugh at our words,
bringing our smiles so close but our hearts at a distance.
It’s the impressions that matter the most to me;
the seconds of love that pass too quick to see.
I’m painting a photo of you and me for when we leave this scene.
I never really was, but what if I was?
What if anything I though was real?
What if I thought you loved me?
Nothing more has to be said; he’s calling for you again.
No more has to be said; I guess you can go home again.
( ❤ Mitch)