Is it too late to thank you now
for the gift of sanity you gave me then?
You were my escape, my blessing-
the way you kept me from defeat
when I needed nothing but sanctuary.
I survived those ardent, lonely drives
down eventual familiar corridors, to your door
where I presumed you’d take me in,
combat the sin and hold me close…
just one more night would do. With you.
Searching your soft, sad eyes of blue
finding any reason to stay, any ounce of truth
to hold on to. Wanting to hear your soul ignite in song,
but you were too shy, so whatever it took would do
until you would belt out your tunes from the other room.
And oh how I loved that soundtrack so-
it would loop twice around before I arrived.
Your pitch tuned perfectly to the thoughts in my head,
until at full capacity, I nearly responded in song to you.
And it was, I swear, what you had mumbled too.
Sure, I fell for you. Hard. My heart was impressionable
and my will was weak, but adamant and sure. Dead set.
You were my Achilles heel, my eyes’ proud desire.
So much in fact, that even upon my final escape from that hell
I prayed that it was to you and nowhere else. That prayer failed.
Like a desperate beggar to his prized, last dollar bill
exchanging it, in the end for an ounce of that dependency,
instead of cutting loose; I clung to you. Talked of a move.
I made me miserable with false hope of a grand gesture.
I swear, I wanted to but I had to do it for myself. Not you.
Sadly those blanks were never filled,
but is it really as sad a revelation still?
No. For as sure as these signs define these lines
that our friendship grows upon. I presume.
I, can, hold my tongue to finally support you.
Despite the back and forth, the discontent
of the romance long since past. I promise,
that for what safe haven your arms, your beautiful heart,
the drive in escape of that wacky city to you brought.
No feelings can cloud how proud I am of you and your art.