I will sing even when words have no meaning
and the notes seem dull and flat.
I will love you and wish for your love
even when no hope for it exists.
If all is meaningless then I will create meaning in this.
If I cannot create meaning, I will pretend.
I became every word that I ever wrote
even when I did not mean them.
I am every desperate syllable
these lips have ever spoken
to a crowd that did not understand - or so I believed.
I said them like they were true and they were.
Even when they were lies.
I would be honest with you.
You knew - that awkward glance.
The lowering of eyes as eyes met.
The sudden loss of words when words were needed.
The end of the night when we
did not kiss goodbye.
Silence, terrible silence.
You had to have known.
Do I understand too much or too little?
Am I prideful or simply humiliated?
Somewhere this became more difficult
than I could have imagined. An intangible quest.
Ephemeral. Ethereal. Figmentatious.
And yet I believe.
If life were tired and boring I would still live it,
a hundred times over. A thousand. Nothing is worse than the unknowing.
But this slips through my fingers, for all that I would grasp it.
I will reach out again.
There may be no end to this. Satisfactory.
The best stories circle back on themselves,
constantly revising,
hoping to find infinity
before the last word is spoken.
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