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