Some days I am convinced
That you are right here with me.
As I sit at my desk
Reading sad poetry
The window blinds are swaying.
The window isn't open.
I sit here letting tears leak out
To the beat of sad music.
I tried to stop the blinds from swinging.
These days I can't focus at all.
The rhythmic swaying starts right back up again.
The light moves
And dances over my fingers.
The blinds occasionally tap against the window.
It's as if they are reminding me
That I am not alone.
That you are still here.
I find myself right back in your garage
Slowly dancing
And swaying in your arms
My forehead resting on your collarbone.
It's funny the things that take me back here.
But no matter what I'm doing,
All I can think about is how
Light dances across your lips
The way these window blinds are dancing with the sun.