I forget that sometimes.
The tight grip we're wishing for,
Someone who holds your wrist a little too tight because they can't let you go
I can't let you go
But I also can't let go of the sound of sirens
Both physical and unreal
The sound of loss, same as an airplane
Same as a fast car
Same as slipping out of your grip, or you slipping out of mine
The same painful loneliness,
Irreparable, illogical, out of control
I never see the ambulances but I know there are people riding in them with a story I won't get to hear
I want to be part of your story and I want everyone to hear it
I don't want it lost in the sound of turbines
I don't want to forget it in the sound of time, which isn't the sound of a clock ticking
It's the sound of footsteps trying to catch up with airplanes or firetrucks,
Or trying to figure out how to move in that moment you were gone
(I kept watching the door, as if you would come back)