Ha.
You know what's funny?
I pin things.
Thoughts, intentions, dreams
(Many of them about you).
I tape them to my dirty window
and I hold my breath
as I see you walking by outside
below it and
as I see your figure stroll on by turning from pink and yellow
to purple and black from the setting sun
I pretend you're watching my every move wondering what on earth I could possibly think to do next, your beautiful eyes following mine as if they're curious to know everything about me,
to see the shiny gears turning inside my head.
But as I look harder
outside my window
wiping away the gross film across it,
I see that it isn't you that is there
and you aren't watching me at all.
In the insipid dream they call reality
you are far away
washing your thoughts upon the windows of other people
clearing away the film that plagues their glass
and their minds.
No, it isn't you
out there
watching me.
It's something dark and thin, stretched along the pavement like taffy.
It's silent.
Is it a mark? A puddle?
No. It's a shadow.
My own stretching weary with the sun
and fading like the moon every day of the month.
Stretching
stretching
gone.
Still, perhaps, wishing you were there
watching my dreams pop from the garden of my mind
and grow, grow
all for you.
-k.p.
Thursday 5:42PM
June 16, 2016
