(no subject)

Aug 19, 2019 01:34


I'm sitting on these concrete steps.

The summer night is cool and quiet and clear,

Like my thoughts of you.

It's ridiculous how many times I've played this scene out.

Always at night.

You come to my door.  You knock and I open.

I'm half-dressed and you're a mess.

And I look at you with a mix of emotions.

An exasperated "Why are you here?"

And a desperate  "What took you so long?"

Always this mix.

And we walk around the dark suburban streets.

Quiet and cool and clear and perfect for us,

To talk this out.

In a mix of languages.  Most of them not verbal.

"You're late," I would say with deafening finality,

And you'd apologize.  For making me wait.

For making me this way.

And maybe we'd kiss,

Up against a lamp post or on a park bench,

Your arms and hands trying to swallow me,

Trying to remember everything about this moment.

But you'd have to go,

And I'd tell you I would follow.  Always follow.

And you'd make some excuse so we can get one more day in this purgatory.

I'd drive you through roads with no signal,

Where the trees hang low and close like a tunnel.

And I'd play you all the songs that make me think of you,

Make me think of ocean waves and jade rolling countrysides.

And you'd look at me while I was driving and know you were falling,

Know that I was worth the wait.

I'd show you icy mountain sides,

Leading you with the sound of my voice,

The brightness of my face.

We'd climb and climb,

Hoping to stay discreet.  Hoping to not catch any eyes.

And when the path opened up,

When the trees let us breath again,



We'd be at the base of something greater than ourselves.

And know that it had been waiting for us the whole time.

But instead of this fantasy,

I'm just the girl waiting.

Too high to walk straight.

Too in her head to talk straight.

Damned if she stays, damned if she goes.

Always angry.  Always guilty.  Always waiting.

Previous post Next post
Up