Thursday, July 9, 2009

To Tell You.

I woke up today alarmed by the knowledge
That we may not have a whole lifetime
Or we may not even have a year
To wait to run into each other:

For that magical collision
- At the same time fated and accidental -
Where we'd arrive to the same place
Both ready and well
And to fit so perfectly together,
Unchecked by the past
And unafraid of the future.

So I wished that I could
Unabashedly and shamelessly find you.
Tell you,
I never hoped for a permanent forever.

Tell you,
How we may not have a whole lifetime
And we may not even have a year
To wait
To run into each other.

Tell you, I beat
Fate to the punch
And staged my own accident.
I arrived to you
Not ready and unwell and
To fit
So uncomfortably together with
You and burdened
By the past and
Terrified of
The future.

Wouldn't that still count?
Isn't that, in some way, better?

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