but I've never been there after all.
You never said you wanted solid,
but I saw it still, somehow.
The things we can't have, things we won't have,
things we don't need, there's a lesson here.
I stayed silent for a wide long while,
and the one day you were sad,
you said a certain thing, thought it'd be nice,
and everyone else said no, and i said yes.
It's something nice, something nicer afterall,
when there really isn't anything at all,
there's something nice.
And we walked together for the day,
said simple things and then said nothing,
said it all again.
When you breathed you'd hesitate,
I loved you tossing ideas in your head,
deciding what to think, and I decided too.
When you breathed I saw a swirl,
of vapor-smoke and color mute,
where pain met reason and you became more you,
Your steps didn't need to be sure
and they didn't need to be needed,
but I began to need them anyways.
You said that days had been okay,
but sometimes you'd forgotten,
and you tried hard to not recall.
I said the most painful things
were sometimes the most sound,
citing a certain safety
to be found
in the soft, simple, and still.
I don't think you believed me,
and I hoped you wanted to,
because nothing turns to something
as quickly as slipping hands.
the soft press of fingers,
the simple clasp of skin,
the still sense of presence,
suddenly there's something solid,
suddenly there's something safe,
there's something sound,
and it's never been in the keeping,
but in the finding;
wake up once and look differently at the world.