I shouldn't have told you
The things I worried about.

I shouldn't have told you
The worst fears I had.

I shouldn't have told you
I was afraid to lose you.

I shouldn't have told you
How I felt about myself.

I shouldn't have trusted you
Not to pull the trigger on my heart.

I should have written poetry.
Maybe then you would have stayed.

When the world knocks
I won't answer.

When the world knocks
I'll pretend to be asleep.

When the world knocks
I'll hide in my room. I'll hide myself.

When the world knocks
I'll know I should be there
But I can't.

When the world knocks*
I hope it knocks on someone else's door.

When you look back on it, you think:
"Those were the good times"
"She was the best for me"
"I've never been so in love"

But we're all blind.
Blind to the fights,
Blind to the tears and curses,
Blind to the way we felt
In the worst times.

Our minds hold on to the good memories,
In our minds we see only the smiles and laughs
The trips and days spent rolling in bed.
We blind ourselves to the way
Things really went--and why they ended.
We're all blind to the bad
When we want the good times back.
We're all blind to someone who hurt us.

Blinking at me.
Demanding something of me,
Something I cannot give it.

The cursor demands meaning and direction,
It demands thoughts and ideas to put to words.
Those I don't have.

All I have is this cursor.

Blink
Blink
*Blink

The day moves on.
The week moves on.
The month and year all move on.
Life, of course, moves on.

        But some of us
        Life moves on without.
        We're left where we stopped
        Sitting along and wondering why.

              Life has no time for our selfish thoughts,
                    Life has no care for how we cope.
                         Life just moves on.

And so
Must we.

Easier said than done, I suppose.

Who drives the wind?
The battered steppes in the North
Stand mute with cracked lips.
Where the roar of ocean crash resounds,
The wind whips like some old tyrant.
He whistles, remembering her pleasant face,
Long dead.
Then he takes up the whip and whistles some more,
As he strikes lightning on the tattered shore.