Throwing pebbles that skim the surface—
The water’s depths will always remain a mystery.
If you spoke to the fish, they would tell you
That I’m wading in my mind’s shallow sea
And glimpsing at you through the waves—
You, the moon who quietly ebbs the tides.
A self-absorbed onlooker is all I am.
You are the only one who can pull me away
From my own mind, from my own surface.
All the world’s wonders combined, I see in you;
The Great Pyramid a mere pile of blocks
And the Taj Mahal a tombstone—
New York City a small town, if you’ve never been there,
And if you have, a world in and of itself.
We step in the same circles and lines.
Your air is mine, and the wind that caresses your face
Is the wind that tangles my hair and whispers to me
Things of the past, things beyond this wretched present,
Where we are unchained bandits and uncensored gamblers
Who put our money on the things we tell others
And choke on words left unsaid face-to-face.
Others forget, we never forget—
We never learn, we never try.
And so I wonder if silence is truly golden,
Lips glued shut, tongue dry,
My eyes cast down and yours like they were that October day
When all this started.
Yet—this is nothing, nothing at all on the surface.
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