this morning i woke up next to the person i love
we ordered coffee from the shop down the street
i wished him luck on his meeting and he kissed me goodbye
and that was how i started off my friday

and i know that this does not seem like much
and i know that this is not creative or clever or coded in poetry
but my god
nothing has ever made me as full of life as this

two years ago i sat alone on the other side of the lake
(on the wrong side of the right province)
and i wrote about what could have been.

i didn't like it there
(no matter how many times i said i did)
and i waited and wished and wanted and wondered

if the lake would freeze over enough to stand on
(if i would stop freezing up enough to take the first step)
if you would even be willing to head towards the hallways and highways and holidays where time was frozen and all we knew was us

and meet me in the middle of what could be
(present tense, i see that now)
for maybe more than a little bit longer

yesterday i sat on the right side of that huge stretch of water
(with you it went from isolating to intimate)
and i did not write because being beside you was already beyond my most clever metaphors

i love it here
(i mean that, truly)
and after too many seasons and cinder blocks and blurry skype calls

this is finally ours
(this was ours the entire time)
for far, far more than a little bit longer

reminding myself that i wasn't as happy as i want to think that i was

last night was warm
apartments were crowded and streetcars were crowded and the bar was crowded and hearts were crowded, beating, full

but tonight is cold
and the blinds are closed in the apartments all the lights switched off
and the streetcar was empty at 8 am, 9 am, 11 pm, tomorrow
and a drink was ordered but left untouched so the waitress cleared it off the table before heading home for the evening
and beating hearts took a beating, empty

the lights were off by the time i got there but i knew the people inside and they loved living there with blankets and a heating bill but now the door is locked and the temperature is dropping

i didn't ride the streetcar because the token fell out of the hole in my pocket but i knew the commuters were content with their backs against the red plastic and the stop was requested too soon and now they have to walk and it's below freezing

and i didn't make it to the bar that night but i know they laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed but now the beer is warm and the waitress is cold and she claims it's last call so i guess they're leaving

tonight is cold and i won't deny that
and i know i don't have a key or a pint and i still need to fix that hole in my pocket
but take my gloves and my coat and i'll keep you warm this winter as much as i possibly can

i'm so mixed up and my glass is empty but the moon is full
it's casting shadows in my apartment which is equal parts comforting and creepy and maybe i am alright sometimes but maybe i'm not but maybe i am

When you’ve asked yourself, “what the hell am I doing with my life?”
Five times before you’ve even had your morning coffee
Which isn’t enough, so you grab a second coffee
Because you stayed up until sunrise writing a lab report on the psychological effects of coffee
They call that an education.

When you stare at screens and sheets of paper
Until Shakespeare’s sonnets and Sir John A. Macdonald
Are scratched into the blackboard on the inside of your brain
Only to have the slate wiped clean
The second your Scantron card spells “success” in Braille,
They call that an education.

When you’re swimming in, shall we call it, the Academian Sea
And tentacles reach out and start to pull you under one by one
And the lifeguards on the shore simply tell you to swim harder,
They call that an education.

I remember walking onto campus feeling so inspired
Ready to be re-wired
Until they said my arts degree would never get me hired
Now the time keeps passing by and I always feel so tired
And for what reason?
I’ve read countless books on history and Hamlet and how to speak Italian yet it seems as though the most I’ve learned is all the different ways I can doubt myself
I am creative, I am well-read, I am kind, I am caring, but I am a history major
And in a place where 3.0s and 4.0s and future capital value is practically etched into our skin for the world to read like a bad tattoo
Apparently that means I’m not going anywhere.
There are so many days when I want my tattoo removed
So people will stop staring at the decimal points and prerequisites that distract from the rest of me and look me in the eyes for a change and see in my smile that this is who I really am

But instead I’ll probably stay up late again
Learn names and dates again
Forget them after the test again

Because when you stare at that sheet of paper if you’re dedicated (or crazy) enough to make it that far
And you cover up your tattoo with your graduation gown only for them to draw your degree wherever enough skin shows to prove to the world that they’ve churned out another one
They call that an education.