you are more or less like a streetlight
that is always green and never turns red,
and I am more or less like that pedestrian
perpetually waiting at the stop sign at
the opposite side of the intersection.
we are two paths that crossed but never once
knew where we were going.
not home.
you’re always going and I’m always staying.
i am stuck behind you’re green light goings and
all the cars passing by are so blurry
and it's not because they’re going too fast,
but because I am afraid that I'll see you in one of them.
your gentle wave out the window,
your soft smile shrouded by the sun glares.
there's your goodbye.
there's me standing in the rearview.
you always tell me
you can’t wait to leave this rotten place,
that you have no home.
I said we could build our own,
you only smiled and said “don’t you ever want to leave?”
don’t ask me that, you know the answer.
every driveway on earth leads to the same intersection.
you’re always going and I’m always staying.
the night you told me you were leaving you said
there was no other choice that you could see.
i was standing right in front of you.
i can't ask you to choose me.
“this is bigger than you and I.”
you’re always going and I’m always staying.