It’s a funny thing
Being able to realize
They don’t have everything as figured out
As you thought they did
And you are both reduced to
The fear of a child
A child lost in a corn maze, that of which
An exit might as well not exist
And the path being sewn towards the future
Is unclear
For both of you; for everyone

It’s an odd thing
Being able to realize
Those mistakes of the past, the people
Who you think are haunting
Are only taunting—
Getting lost in your imaginary plot
The false narrative of events which never lead you
      To just the right picture
Because the future
   Does not arise from the ashes of days gone up in flames;
The future


                                               sits on the edges of your toes
                                                                     and
                                   perks up when the hair on your arm feels prickly
                                                                     but
                                          stirs when his endless eyes walk past;
                                                                     and


     the future
is never painted across the part in his lips
     or the feel of his inner thighs,
it is never handed over in his goodbyes

yes

                                the future

is a mystery

                                a delicacy;

the future

                             unravels with the clocks

ticking

                             marking the instant

pairs of eyes connected

                             but never promising

it will last

                             beyond
                                  a
                             memory
      
                 ~~