Saturday, September 22, 2018

the romantics

I suppose we shall always live apart, me and my precious heart. It’s a lament I’ll lay down by the tide, a secret I shared while seeing you as I looked at the moon. Waiting and wanting and speaking aloud. A story about what my favorite story would be if these stories could come true. These various meditations on how it feels to always somehow miss the mark.

The shadows work where we’re not watching. They close the doors and dull details. Reveal depths and hidden vessels, rushing away from the citadel of the seen. The details all devils giving us away. Beware the tale you buy. Beware the blanks you are offered to fulfill.

The beat goes on until the party’s over or the power goes out. The back and forth of wish and want. The need to hear it said with no skimping on the beauty. The need to leave a mark for Cain to bear. The gray shores and endless tides littered with remainders. My life the story of only needing what was missed, the measure of the drift between these words of love and what they really mean.

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