Alone
I'm tired of lying. Of lies. Lies by omission, lies by assumption, lies by disconsideration, lies by ignorance. Lies by hiding. Lies.
Yet social convenience dictates that things happen the way they do and so it all goes on.
A man with yellow hair, head cocked to the side staring down at something, a puzzled expression upon his face. Intelligent eyes, musing, hand raised atop the forehead as if to hold in place the myriad of thoughts, of possibilities, of creation.
I talked with you today, perhaps longer than I have in three years. I miss you and yet I'm still afraid, afraid that I'll hurt you again if I try and afraid that I'll lose you if I don't. Yet I never really had you and now I never will, the gap is too big. I wish I could say sorry but social convenience makes us, makes me dance around the issue, and you would clam up if I said anything anyway. As well you probably should. I don't want to hurt you and yet I probably will.
People never really change. Of all the people I know, of all the people I've tried to get close to over the years, most had things which they were unwilling to compromise on, which they were unwilling to let go. And that is why I know things would never have worked out. Would they have worked out with you? I don't know, probably not. Yet I think you, of all people, can change. Maybe I just have so much faith in you because of a song, a handshake, and a time that will never be. A phone call reaching across the sky, one cold, dark evening.
But we are where we are and things can only go forward.
Afraid of the future, of letting go of the present, of running away before it's time to run away. Afraid of being so cold. Afraid of change that will inevitably happen, trying to hold on to my youth for yet one more moment. I can still think that I'm 21, here. For a few more short weeks, until reality catches up again. It would be easy to let go, to not go forward, to close my eyes and remain stuck in time. Yet, now that the tide has ebbed, I can but go forward.
Alone.
Yet social convenience dictates that things happen the way they do and so it all goes on.
A man with yellow hair, head cocked to the side staring down at something, a puzzled expression upon his face. Intelligent eyes, musing, hand raised atop the forehead as if to hold in place the myriad of thoughts, of possibilities, of creation.
I talked with you today, perhaps longer than I have in three years. I miss you and yet I'm still afraid, afraid that I'll hurt you again if I try and afraid that I'll lose you if I don't. Yet I never really had you and now I never will, the gap is too big. I wish I could say sorry but social convenience makes us, makes me dance around the issue, and you would clam up if I said anything anyway. As well you probably should. I don't want to hurt you and yet I probably will.
People never really change. Of all the people I know, of all the people I've tried to get close to over the years, most had things which they were unwilling to compromise on, which they were unwilling to let go. And that is why I know things would never have worked out. Would they have worked out with you? I don't know, probably not. Yet I think you, of all people, can change. Maybe I just have so much faith in you because of a song, a handshake, and a time that will never be. A phone call reaching across the sky, one cold, dark evening.
But we are where we are and things can only go forward.
Afraid of the future, of letting go of the present, of running away before it's time to run away. Afraid of being so cold. Afraid of change that will inevitably happen, trying to hold on to my youth for yet one more moment. I can still think that I'm 21, here. For a few more short weeks, until reality catches up again. It would be easy to let go, to not go forward, to close my eyes and remain stuck in time. Yet, now that the tide has ebbed, I can but go forward.
Alone.