remaking, things done to you
line up the things that you've done
all those things were somewhat true
or were only moments...
strange, how they collapse in the blink of an eye.
remind me that I've dodged another bullet
can you imagine that kind of life?
no, I should say not.
so: though I write about heartache
and I do all the time
i contend that it's all just content in the end
in both senses of the word.
content and occasionally: joy!
at not being caught.
and not being tied
and feeling a little bit foolish
for all the emphasis occasionally placed on them.
silly boy.
oh, there will be a time, and a place. and a someone
but if one rushes, clings, hangs on by toenails just for the sake of hanging on...
ah, that's trouble.
we can wait.
