I used to call her every night,
The black spiral cord stretched far and tight;
My changing voice kept to a whisper,
Against the hinges of the hallway door.
I used to write her every day
When she lived sixty miles away;
Sent thoughts and verses that I wrote,
Sealed my love in a white envelope.
We came together.
We grew together.
Then grew apart.
What would we do
If we got back?
What could we say.
How would we act.
I've Romanticized on that.
The memory of us.
While lying on my couch,
The sun breaks through,
Moving across my closed eyes;
If I open them,
Could you be standing in the room,
Then sitting beside me,
Hand on my head and hair,
Asking, am I okay.
It wouldn't stay this way.
The memory of us
Is sweeter in the thought.
Today you live not far from me,
But a greater distance than it used to be,
When we were sixty miles apart.
Apr 7, 2018
Apr 7, 2018 at 2:06 PM UTC
I used to call her every night,
The black spiral cord stretched far and tight;
My changing voice kept to a whisper,
Against the hinges of the hallway door.
I used to write her every day
When she lived sixty miles away;
Sent thoughts and verses that I wrote,
Sealed my love in a white envelope.
We came together.
We grew together.
Then grew apart.
What would we do
If we got back?
What could we say.
How would we act.
I've Romanticized on that.
The memory of us.
While lying on my couch,
The sun breaks through,
Moving across my closed eyes;
If I open them,
Could you be standing in the room,
Then sitting beside me,
Hand on my head and hair,
Asking, am I okay.
It wouldn't stay this way.
The memory of us
Is sweeter in the thought.
Today you live not far from me,
But a greater distance than it used to be,
When we were sixty miles apart.
