I was thinking of old love
Dying love
Love-Hate
That space between the two
That seems to last the longest
In any relationship
That
Fighting for bed space
Saying all the wrong things
On purpose
Waking in disgust
Hating every word
Drunken night arguments
Being able to breathe
When she's away
Love
I would take that kind of love
Right now
Stopped at a crosswalk
On a cold November afternoon
It seemed like all the drivers
Had passengers
I looked over to my right
There was a white haired old guy
In ***** clothes
Eating a gas station hot dog
He reeked of mustard
He glared at me
I looked back at the traffic
And thought
Everybody's going nowhere
But nowhere is somewhere
I hope...