I'm not asking for forever.
I'd settle for a moment
or two.

I don't want to hide
from inevitability.
I'm aware all things
tend to fade.

There's no need to
pretend we're immortal,
and I'm happy we'll never
get the chance to be so.

I've thought about what it'd be like --
to live forever, with myself.

I imagine it'd be like a new city
every weekend.
I imagine I'd see the same people,
just a new arrangement of faces.

I'd know all the pitfalls and say, quietly:
"Ya know, I've seen this before.
Maybe you shouldn't do that."
But I don't speak loud enough.

Oh well. New week, new town.

Then I think of all the farewells.
I'd probably become numb to good-bye
and forget to ever say hello.

I'd get stuck in my head
and know the story of every person
without ever speaking to them.

Watching them walk, I'd make
up their stories for laughs.

She wanted to be an art history major
but prudential planning interrupted her thoughts;
now she studies biology, or chemistry, or physics.
She isn't happy at all.

I can tell by the shoes that she wears.

He wanted to be born as a peasant,
unaware of money or cars or the lot.
He thinks people are happier like that.

I can tell by the shades that he wears.

She wants to be a trophy wife.
He wishes that he never had kids.
She thinks she's too good for manual labor.
He once lit a bag of cats on fire.

I'd laugh at the stories unfolding before me.
After a few generations, I'd know every
story combination that ever could be.

So, I'd turn my gaze to myself
and find another lonely man
making stories in his head
without ever asking if they're true.

I don't think I could handle forever.
Sometimes today doesn't end soon enough.