Could we just carve our names into a tree somewhere deep in a forest where no one would ever see it again—But at least it would exist and we would be together somewhere forever on something living, something that grows. Because in this world, too many things just don't happen because it's not the right time or age or decade or hurricane of circumstances and I can't bare to watch something so beautiful die. Even worse than death, never fully exist.
But it was real.
I swear it was.
I have the scars.
Even if it was barely more than
a distant day dream.
6 comments:
Our scars
Are reservoirs
For love that's yet to come
So I say the deeper the better
Fill me up.
Buttercup.
Wondering wanderer;
you're already full.
I want to swim
in your water,
and steal kisses (oh, to kiss you)
between breaths.
I see you.
I see the trees sway
and the wind caress the water,
and the mottled
smile of spring.
Rays of light leaving
leaves alight, and rolling
zephyrs whispering songs.
I feel the road purr
And the music pull.
I see silent splendor
and twisting savagery.
I see beauty without end
and no end without beauty.
Even this one.
Were you speaking to my words?
Or to him?
I don't know.
I can't.
I am.
And you?
You're beautiful.
So beautiful.
Easy on the eyes, too.
It's always to him. Maybe I should reassess my situation after this.
I have mine. I'm real glad I did, too; clarity always helps.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yhOKhJaM1QE
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