Wednesday, August 29, 2012

An Attempted Like Poem

Sweet Regrets Crushed Over A Daiquiri

Every time I get a facebook note from you I think strands of what ifs. I muse about our lives if they had been twined together. I scribble your name in the sand and marry your last name to mine with a hyphen just to hear if it fits. It does. When I sing it out loud.
I wish that when I lived near you that I would have asked you out to an evening of board games and beer. But I was too shy. And I thought that you were younger than you looked. I wanted to ask you many questions about your simple lifestyle and your non-traditional Seattle beliefs. It intrigued me that you made beautiful things out of used fabrics and cords for people to wear. In time, I know you will make a living at it.
My thoughts trail off pondering if you could fit into rural life with an old guy like me. And into the evening breeze this thought fades, "do you ever think of me?"

The answer, of course, is probably no
and by morning dreamings of living an ordinary life united to you into old age feathers out into the sun rise like morning dew on blades of grass in autumn

—until you message me again.

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