I filled page after page in my journal
with words about you.
Words that never turned into a poem
because that would mean I believed in them.
You always tease me for not doing my homework;
You don’t know it’s because I’d rather write about you.
I’m pulled to what’s important. I have to cement your existence
into these pages. There's too much beauty to forget.
We are a movie, aren’t we? Wild and unpredictable
and unrealistic. You love that kind of love.
I hate love but not when I’m looking at you.
You’re scared, aren’t you? So am I.
I know better, don’t I? I know better
than to believe in this. I know better
than to believe in what I see. What I feel.
I know better than to believe in anything at all.
We know things without knowing them, don’t we?
When you look at me, I’m sure.
When you touch me, I’m sure.
When you say my name, I’m sure.
I’m sorry I can’t trust anything,
not even certainty. I’m sure, my dear.
You must believe that. The thing is that
I am afraid to be.
It’s always been my problem--
I’ve always been a coward, haven’t I?
It’s just that I never cared until I saw
your lip quiver and heard your voice shake.
Perhaps we don’t know pain
until we’ve tampered with the happiness
of someone whose light
has burned away so much of our darkness.
Trouble is it doesn’t take very much.
A little darkness in the head of a coward
is a menace in the heart of a lover.
I will set myself on fire if it means you’re safe.
One day I’ll burn it all out of me
and scatter the ashes to the wind.
I hope you see them drift above you,
and know how sorry I am.
Sorry I couldn’t believe it.
But even those movies you love
never ended that beautifully.
I believe it now. I know it’s too late.
with words about you.
Words that never turned into a poem
because that would mean I believed in them.
You always tease me for not doing my homework;
You don’t know it’s because I’d rather write about you.
I’m pulled to what’s important. I have to cement your existence
into these pages. There's too much beauty to forget.
We are a movie, aren’t we? Wild and unpredictable
and unrealistic. You love that kind of love.
I hate love but not when I’m looking at you.
You’re scared, aren’t you? So am I.
I know better, don’t I? I know better
than to believe in this. I know better
than to believe in what I see. What I feel.
I know better than to believe in anything at all.
We know things without knowing them, don’t we?
When you look at me, I’m sure.
When you touch me, I’m sure.
When you say my name, I’m sure.
I’m sorry I can’t trust anything,
not even certainty. I’m sure, my dear.
You must believe that. The thing is that
I am afraid to be.
It’s always been my problem--
I’ve always been a coward, haven’t I?
It’s just that I never cared until I saw
your lip quiver and heard your voice shake.
Perhaps we don’t know pain
until we’ve tampered with the happiness
of someone whose light
has burned away so much of our darkness.
Trouble is it doesn’t take very much.
A little darkness in the head of a coward
is a menace in the heart of a lover.
I will set myself on fire if it means you’re safe.
One day I’ll burn it all out of me
and scatter the ashes to the wind.
I hope you see them drift above you,
and know how sorry I am.
Sorry I couldn’t believe it.
But even those movies you love
never ended that beautifully.
I believe it now. I know it’s too late.