even the dreamers need to be called on their bluff; we talk about endeavors together across the states, and taking a weekend to go some place where we could tell a different life at the parties, and share the same last name; I would leave the bedroom door open, and you wouldn't need to knock for an invitation to fill my bed where we could finally leave our chests most bare, as we should.
but still, we speak of it as more of an "if" rather than a "when," and smoke on our ignorance until we can play like the "when" is "now". and silly me, I get so caught up, only to be dashed when I see none of it is happening as it should.
you see the door ajar, but you don't cross the threshold, and it's been for so long, that I certainly am no longer sure which of us is the one standing in the hall, waiting to be beckoned to listen to the blood pumping through the other's chest.