eventually
eventually, the best of us won't be in the past, the fairest days won't pass without our knowing it without a care, we shrugged off lifetimes left them laying in cool grass to fade and melt away eventually, our stories will mean more than what was or used to be and we'll keep going because it's good to keep going, it's good to keep looking ahead and even need won't be larger than we are eventually, even the sun will hit us here in the shade where i carved your name into a page in my heart, turned you into myths and majesty, made morals of your light oh, and we'll still shine like memory burns so bright we'll have to close our eyes. eventually, drives will be to somewhere other than where you're not and where i'm not won't be where you are at least in time, we'll find it easier to laugh off and sit, rocking in porch swings telling it like good ol' days and watery eyes won't mean sadness. eventually, our yearnings will be ours again, free to spend the day, anyway that comes to mind someone's grandchildren in tow someone's future laid out bright and we'll be smiling sunlight on their shoulders. eventually, cigarettes won't be better in winter time and sharing one will be sweeter than after making love and passing water bottles back and forth eventually, we'll count back the days and see it's been years and loves gone by since we turned our heads to avoid a slight unknown and what's known anyway just by having it happen to you just by going through it eventually, we won't need to fill a glass to make it by, a nip to take the edge off to take the pain away. eventually, when rain clicks against the windows it won't remind us of you coming late to my bed or me leaving yours, me leaving yours (sadness is luxury we indulge so often it breaks sweat from our brow) eventually, the clouds above won't seem so much like fairy tales we told each other late at night to keep from falling asleep to keep from wasting the time we had (your secrets are all ten words long, as i recall) and one day i won't think about you counting out the words on your fingers while our heads sat so still next to each other eventually, the songs that mean so much to me about you won't play in rhythm in my head won't play in circles without drum beats, and filled with long sad guitar lines geoff farina wrote so long ago (sighs are crosses even we can't bear.) eventually, only sad songs will be sad and the things that mean so much now will seem as silly as our childhood worries maybe then, we'll get our wonder back (i'll be thinking of you when it happens.) eventually, these last lost days that pass so frequently will be as careless as teen girls undressing (at least in movies there's smiles to share) and walks will mean more than the way we talked about crunching leaves beneath our feet. eventually, the neighbors that heard our lovemaking will move on (away) and life will be more than a series of parenthesis from here to there. eventually, the stories we tell our friends will grow fond and free like flights of fancy like the letters you wrote me in your tired notebooks with run-down pencil lead snapping at the end. eventually, these words will wash away the way a day turns forth from one to the other maybe we can save time by leaving it right here where it happened eventually, all our yesterdays will mean more than our tommorrows and red wine will sit, un-gulped in glasses on porch-tables while ceiling fans burst through the murk of humid nights frailties turn to charm the way charm turned so quietly, to frailty. eventually, stories about lovers won't mean anything next to what we had won't mean anything at all. eventually, we'll turn out better than we started turn out our beds like memories toss photos with the spring frenzy and both of us will only exist in thoughts had in passing eventually, mistakes will lose their spark and dim will only be nights by candlelight with anyone who comes by. eventually, change won't need to come and life will pass us by like war vets who look back at their day in the jungle-sun and (none of them laugh) but wouldn't it be nice if they could? wouldn't it be nice if we could? eventually, our times and tales will end up more than books or factory sealed letters we never sent. eventually, the end will only be the beginning.
2004-06-11 | 1:01 a.m.
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