We were distant strangers oh so many years ago,
simply admiring each other from barstools
sending whiskey and waters to strike conversations.
I remember those days, and what stays with me more
was the tension, the passion between us those nights,
where you would lean in and whisper warm words
against my neck making the hair on my arms dance.
I was grateful for the pounding music then,
and when you buried your face in my hair, I would
place a hand on your painted skin, slowly tracing
my thumb across the hourglass on your arm,
how ironic that tattoo resembled our time together
always slowly running out.
And here we are, playing house years later,
some call us lovers, how we are mirrored images
of happiness and admiration, but I still call us
Perhaps we moved too fast, forgetting that we
were young, silly, full of light and excitement,
and we should have embraced our youth together.
Hindsight sure is a bitch.
We loved each other so quickly, so passionately,
that it seems to me that we might have run
out of love to offer each other over these years.
The air, so silent and heavy, just hangs between us,
and love does not consume our days any longer,
no…school, careers, marriage, children, divorce,
death, escape. Those have slowly stolen our youth,
taken our love right from our chests.
So here I lay each night, next to the most beautiful
stranger, the one I once loved with my whole heart,
a fading image of our youth, a reminder of my darkness.