It's funny now,
looking back to
November
September,
back to August when
I was so unsure and
put my faith in
idols

I keep looking back to
Vienna,
to Istanbul,
to charcoal eye-liner and hanging lamps,
Morocco

and here I am:
where I never thought
we'd be
where I have no idea
where I'm going and
there's a cloudy, veil of haze
protecting and
desisting me

I didn't know my worries wouldn't
redesign my days

so here I sit:
the coffee's hot
and I've started Ballet,
again

and I know that after the longest Winter
under trees,
spent on my own
that even though the next stop is
the desert
that you'll be there
and I won't be
alone.

I used to think I'd make you
fall in love
with me

but now I know,
as I fold my
clothes
and I pull my
denim jeans
over my
thighs
(I think they've gotten bigger)
and I brush my hair, that's
coming in blonde again
(I need to go get a box of
dye)
and I can't seem to find my
glasses
again

that there's nothing
I could have ever
done
to make you fall in love,
could not have done to make you fall
in love

with endless months of
rain
and another grey
spring:

you were bound to
fall in love with me
and there's nothing
I could
have done to
start
or stop it.