My love, he’s so tired and I stand by, face facing the wet pavement,
I know what the sky looks like. But the weight made my head heavy, my neck aches
All I have is my heart in my pocket, out of sight, to not be
a bother, a burden
because he will care. He will drag himself to my side. I am weak.
Some half-way crawl is not enough, so I stand by, tough on the pavement. Quiet, but there.
Sometimes, I take his hand and put it to my chest, to feel it beating
to know it’s there, waiting for its place on my sleeve, embracing.
Heavy. He doesn’t like that. He wants me to be free,
but love is not freedom. I’ve come to understand that. Don’t believe me- this isn’t advice.
So, I tell him
remember when we met under the flowering trees
and it was perfect, the air, the night,
and we sat on a picnic bench looking at the moon and we had everything that mattered… you remember.
He nods, he smiles. Leaning back, my love
he says “I don’t feel how you imagine. I remember the blossoms and the branches of those trees. I remember you under them,
and the moon.
I’m not giving up. I knew the world was this way when I started.
I’m just so tired.”
His hand reaches for mine, across the pavement
under the sky.
