I have a soul that bleeds on the open floor.
I feel the sadness in a night full of laughter, art, the city
The city
Where I've fallen for the confidence that comes with anonymity.
Sometimes the desire crops up to just go out alone,
or to look at a bright light
and think about you, and how right you feel.
There was a time when my life was a trap
There still are times when I feel that friendship is an illusion
When I feel so isolated that I want to ride a train to the end of its line, but then what
And I think about the first time you let me into your heart
on the steps of a Harvard registrar's office
so far in the dead of night that only ghosts of empty shuttles could be heard.
Sometimes I'm not quite sure if I've had a friend
Sometimes I feel like worshipping love
And sometimes when we're together
and you hold me
and I hold you
and we sleep,
the gentlest stroke of your thumb on my arm is enough to tell me what love is,
For I've found it standing earnestly before me,
eyes peeled,
soul open in the spiral steam of her breath that rises in the December air.
Girl, look at this for what it is
Everything it is, and tell me if it's too soon
to say I love you.