when they're gone
when they�re gone, we�ll be here waiting patiently, as all the good ones do to bring you out and home and free from every dark, spoiled corner you know. You�ve forgotten the insides of my room. your dresses no longer know the texture of my floor. and everything beautiful has dimmed to trap doors you can�t seem to dig your way out of. In the summers, you and I used to run wild and silly across the mountain fields through Indian paintbrushes, free as clouds and not waiting, not wanting, just here and beautiful. Sometimes, we�d sit in the hot summer sand, white beaches of grand caymon and sigh, sipping back those drinks with the straws in them so carefully watching the sea and everything it brought and left with. But you, like me in those days were so young and fine you only saw the ships passing, however much you spoke of the sea kissing the sand. So then, I should have watched chasing some nearby steamship to wherever it was going. You had plans about how beautiful it all would be. But lately, you�re just been one steamship to another one lounge chair to the next, not really resting in any of them. One day they�ll go on without you like they always do, running from wave-chasers that always block the road for them (they see you how you saw me). When they�re gone, we�ll be here not for new but to know that once you had one and it was good.
2004-10-22 | 11:36 a.m.
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