When I was standing
where you are standing tonight,
I was thinking about you.

That's what you told me.

Standing here brings me no closer to you.
Knowing I won't see you,
Knowing that you are all I think about,
Not just for a moment at a bus stop.
I am done standing where you've stood.
I want to be where you are.

This is clearly an argument.
You place your hand on my lower back.
You lead me in how I wronged you.
I can bend for you.
But only so far.
We will sway to and fro.
I dip you in empty apologies.
You twirl me in my unjust cause.
I try to pull us away from the floor.
But a new song is bound to play.
You never tire.
Back and forth.
Our never ending dance.

My eyes are fixated upon my life.
My brow furrows to any thought.
And for days now.
These muscles ache.
They've been like this.
So visibly upset.
My mind overlooks.
But my body does not.
Yet.
I let my mind continue.

I write symphonies.
Not with a pen but a brush.
My words aren't spoken.
They are thrown.
They are splattered.
I feel each stroke as a note.
A cellist writing his greatest concerto.
A masterpiece.
And I'm writing for you.

To go to sleep upset.
No words will be met.
Our silence is clear enough.
Like a duet.
We share this stage.
Full of rage.
And can't admit it.

Let's drink.
We havent the time to think.
One? Maybe three?
You open up like a Water Lily
Would it be so silly?
To sit at a bar with me.
Sipping on your whiskey.
Thinking why we.
Isn't actually "we".

Spent.
Stolen.
Your heart.
Borrowed.
Used.
Our time.
Broken.
Wasted.
My nerve.