happenstancer

things written, they weren't about you, yet somehow they turn in my mind and in the end of it, at the last of the roadrages you are there, counting down the stars and waiting for it all to fall through (and sometimes that's how i make sense of it) and so you left to not be left and here, causing waves is me (who wants you)

oh i wait, dreams in line and sometimes they slip out and wander off on their own (making stories about the horror of you) and it always comes back to how i just don't understand and i want, not as much as you, but want a word to put to all this pain: not heartache, please.

so this blanket is tattered by years of use on lawns and leaning back in parks and watch leaves fall above my head and i dream i dream of you in the dark and in the sun (you're crossing great rivers) that lead you back to me...

2004-02-27 | 6:23 p.m.
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