Catch Up.

But he's 43.
I'm 27.
Which doesn't matter now.
But it would
when he dies before me.
And leaves me all alone
to catch up to him.
In our side by side plot.

Could I still love you the same,
knowing that you'll leave me someday?
Knowing I'll have to live out my last years
alone in a house full of memories and old ghosts.
Our children old and grown
With healthy families of their own.
Mortages and bills
Jobs and obligations.
No time for grandma
who's only responsibility is to remember to take her pills.
Pills to keep healthy
To stay alive.
Pills to keep smiling
to want to survive.

Each day I'll think of you.
And wonder if we'll really meet again.
In some after life.
Reincarnation. . .
will you still pick me as your wife?
Will you find me?
Maybe this time we'll have met as babes
and be given back the 16 years we missed.
Maybe we'll be souls
like boundriless entities of energy
that is and are all that is and was around us.
Every living breathing thing
every dead and dying form.
Every smile that fades from someone's face.
Everywhere and every place.
All the time and at every moment.
To be everything and nothing.
Not to know if you are me or I am you.
To be one.

But you're 43.
And I'm 27.
This is a love
that could never happen.






listening to: Andrew Bird-Noble Beast