maybe those were the days
of aching hearts and sweaty palms
the uneasiness etched in our expressions
as we plaster our happiness on our quilted sleeves
the crunch of chips in the height of the night
so dark the stars would shine so bright,
of half-glimpsed eyes shot in the crowd
and our feet running, galloping
tile after tile in the blank of a hall
of swollen eyes from crying the night before
clutching our chests as the ache refuses to subside
of our lips pressed into thin lines,
grown tired from pressing against
the syllables of our desires,
maybe these are the days
in moments of catch phrases
and any excuse to pick an eye lash
to blow a wish, possibly making all of it
to be forever true,
yet life goes on and our bones grow stronger
as our plans sets us apart a bit longer
but the earth is spinning in circles and circles,
maybe the best of our days are only ahead of us
going in circles and circles