SenTimental SomeTimes


Your picture on my wall reminds me of a time I didn’t care about you.
Lost in activity, Playing with Legos.
I could have built you a colorful brick home with many rooms,
a large backyard with a blue lake and a white boat
And a front porch where you could sit and just slow down, because you,
You move too fast.

But I wasn’t aware of you when my creations kept me busy,
and my mind wasn’t ready to embrace your concept.
And now it seems the more I understand you,
The more you seem to slip from my grasp.

Silly girl, You must bathe in baby oil baths,
Because I can’t get my arms around your waist and whisper calmly in your ear,
“You keep moving when the rest of us are still. Sit with me darling.
Tell me about your day darling.
Tell me about your long night and the moonlight, and the stars bright,
and how you felt when you saw the sun peek over the horizon darling.”

But you don’t concern yourself with the trivial past.
You press on, counting, counting, counting as you move toward forever.
You don’t think you will ever die.
And that’s fine,
none of us do until it’s too late.

I wonder when I take my last breath,
If you will even cry for me darling?
Or will you watch silently from the corner of that fluorescent room?
I hate the linoleum floors, they scare me.
And I hate the thought of losing you even more.

Because you are my beacon sweet one.
Your guiding light moves me.
You taught me how to long for something.
How to yearn for the future.

Remember when we booked that cruise, my love?
And how I told you every night before bed that I wish it would be tomorrow?
I spent my days daydreaming of sun decks and daiquiris,
looking over the ledge at nothing.
I spent my nights dreaming of white sand beaches,
and busy bazaars in the streets of Belize.

I wish we could have connected more that weekend, beautiful.
Too concerned with itineraries and next stops.
Your face remained white when we disembarked.
You forgot to soak up the sunshine, darling.

I don’t know why you still get to me.
I still think about you constantly.
Images of your body everywhere.
I see you every morning when my alarm goes off.
I see you looking back at me on my drive to work.
I even saw you last week as I sat in a dingy waiting room
while oil stained hands fixed the vehicle I use to try to escape you.

It’s odd, how the ones we think we love the most end up hurting us.
But maybe you can heal me.
You play a great game of hard to get.
But someday I swear I’ll reach for your second hands and you will clutch mine back.
I’m counting the minutes until I can count the hours with you, darling.
And maybe one day we can stop this vicious cycle.

Maybe one day we can stop this vicious cycle.

Maybe one day we can stop this vicious cycle.

Reese Weatherspoon


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