We have a chronic case of
Right place, wrong time.
Spending 12 years just missing each other.
Just missing each other at the store,
The bars downtown,
The bed we used to share.
Holding tight to the two years we got together.
I get dressed to see you
Knowing we haven’t shared a bed
In over a year.
It was another eight before
Since I could call you mine.
Haven’t said ‘I love you’
But knowing
We mean those words more at 28 than 16.
I pull on my sweatshirt
And grab my keys.
Playing only songs that make me think of you
As I drive to your place.
Deep breaths as I cut the engine.
I wonder what your neighbors see.
I’m clearly not your son’s mother
Or your fiancee.
Your stairs seem to go on forever.
One step up moves me three further from you
But I keep climbing.
Another deep breath
As I raise my hand to knock
Because I know
I’m ending 14 years of chasing each other.