If you come knocking at my door,
With your bag full of clothes and money,
With your eyes full of our starry dreams,
With dark mysterious glasses perched on the bridge of your defiant nose,
With a long dark scarf covering your square chin and the sturdy ridges of your throat,
Empty handed and barefoot as I had always been before,
I will follow you.

The seat behind you on your Harvey has always rightfully been mine,
The wind whipping around us,
The closing distance of the sunset,
The sturdy feel of your waist I wrap my arms around,
They will always belong to us,
Those fleeting moments,
Those fading seconds of time.

But it’s true when they say nothing ever lasts,
One second I was holding you in my arms,
The next there was nothing but empty air and slow registration of your departure,
Where did you go,
And why did you leave me?
When we had promised each other to never let go?

The light in the darkness of your eyes,
The words transcending to crystals when they roll off your rough tongue,
The toughness of your knuckles and calves,
The roughness of your forearms and chest,
I remember so vividly,
But you don’t seem to have been remembering me as much.

I am not someone who cries,
There is nothing to gain from tears,
I am not someone who takes pain very well,
I don’t want to go day by day living in fear,
Of the next person I fall for deciding to leave me as well.

But as the seconds tiptoe by,
I feel a teardrop sliding down my palm,
I feel the makings of a cold, hard shell,
Of which I know will become what others will see of me.
What will become of me?
Well that depends on your departure
or your return.