Never knew life could be
how it was on the sandy hills that night
when we were 16.
Lucy kissed us both,
staring up at the stars,
wild-eyed and dreamy,
messy-haired and bug-bitten.
You asked me how I was feeling,
and I said,
“Like I’ve always wanted to.”
We didn’t care enough,
but we cared too much.
Plastic chair conversations
never made sense of anything,
yet they made it alright,
shooting us off into the night every time.
Neon lights and 3 a.m.,
cutting through lanes in a whirlwind.
If we were thinking about anything,
it was everything at once,
or just the next song.
Guitar strings sang the blues from an early age,
bringing green poems along with them.
Laughing and loving
as the ball spins round.
Days turn to weeks,
months,
years.
We find ourselves back in plastic chairs,
less than we’d imagined.
If we lose ourselves along the way,
will I get to see your face smiling back at mine
as I turn the corner on my life
and know that we were in this together the whole time?