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Mary Christopher Apr 2014
And our love is like a suburban tree,
Rooted in dog ****,
Smashed through concrete,
And struggling every day to survive.

m.c.c.
Mary Christopher Apr 2014
It hasn't even been a week
Since I saw him last,
But it feels like a lifetime;

However, when I take another look,
It feels like just yesterday,
A dazed and far-off kind of yesterday
As if I saw him in a dream
Just last night.

I saw him standing before me,
And he was really there
Until I opened my eyes
And rubbed out the sleep
Only to realize,
Him, oh him, I will never keep,

But just last week
I kept him and he kept me
In that dazed, far-off kind of dream.

Most dreams aren't real,
But this one had to be
Because I can still feel the way he looked at me.
Those brown eyes turned to me,

And I could feel them piercing my soul,
But never deep enough to leave a mark.
He was in my soul, but left it untouched,
So why does my soul feel so eternally touched?

I know he had no intention,
Not even the slightest,
Of making a home in my soul,
So why do I feel a fire lit in the fireplace
And footsteps on the floor?
Why do I hear the rocking of a chair?
I know he can't be there

Because I never let him in,
Never opened the door
To the house deep inside me.
I never let his feet hit the floor

Because I knew he would leave muddy footprints
That not even the best maid could clean,
And I would be left with a ***** floor
And an empty house,
An unlit fireplace
And an abandoned chair,
Still rocking ever so slightly
Just to remind me he'd been there.

m.c.c.

— The End —