November 27, 2012

If I could say just one thing, I don’t know what it would be. It would be simple.

So many songs that I wish I had written. So many things I’d wish I’d said, so many things I’d rather be. If I could say one thing, maybe it would be a question. But what could I ask that would be answered honestly?

What about her? She would ask with words by threes and fours, she would say the things that didn’t matter. Those moments in between were what mattered. The spaces and the dot-dot-dot. And maybe she’d love him but she couldn’t for long, and maybe he’d love her but he couldn’t for long, he couldn’t so honestly. And maybe she’ll cry or maybe she’ll fall silent again, drowning in a sea of dot-dot-dot, spaces so long she’ll forget how to speak and she’ll live between lines just like old times. She forgot how to eat again, she forgot how to sleep because silence is so loud these nights. She’d open her mouth to test the waters once again, but she’d betray herself before betraying another. He’d open his to give a long string of I-don’t-know, all that dot-dot-dot, he proves her right once again, once again, once again. But that kiss in the snow. He was tired of waiting. She was tired of everything, save tongue. Even though her hands were full she took the moment in both.

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