the rock might as well be a stone.
the stone might as well be a boulder.
“take me away from here, please.”
Time looks back at me–it’s ahead you see, as it always wins.
Don’t wish me away, love.
A scolding voice.
“but-but-but this place, it drowns me.”
it’s not the place, goose. it’s the thoughts, the feelings, you.
I laugh because I have to. How else can I respond?
“you’ve named things I can’t get away from.”
As if Time doesn’t know that already, as if I am the one with all the answers.
Eyes are rolled.
does Time have eyes?
I know that. That’s the puzzle of it all.
[it’s funny that all that has come out of all this is scattered thoughts turned into poetry. i haven’t even managed whole sentences since he left. because i can’t. i can’t. pain into beauty, eh?]