I know that you don't get it.
How could you?
How could you
Get what no one here
Had wanted you to believe?

And she meant well
She always meant well.

Lines from a poem
I had written many moons ago.
Lines I had never ever expected
Someone to say
When talking about me.

And that's the thing about writing a poem when you have your life together and you are, in that moment, infinite.

You write the words
That you want someone to use
When they talk about you;
The words that you think
When you talk about you,
But these words are for you
And for your ears only.

So when someone tells you them,
You stutter in your tracks.

It's a yellow light
And eighteen wheels.
A halt that should never have been.
A glimmer of hope
Mixed with sounds of despair.
Everything you had never wanted
Beside all you had always longed for.

It could have been fate,
If fate came in small packages
With tri-colored hair
And a wonderfully soothing voice.

There is something about the way
That life falls out of place
When people just tell you
All the words
You had never intended to hear.