moving pictures, silent films
Oh wake me please when this is over
Oh when the ice is melted away
And the hunger returns
I will be the same, but older
And maybe twice the bear
That I thought I was
the end (for now)
Why would he come back through the park?
You thought that you saw him
but no you did not
We’ve all felt this, regardless of gender. Walking in a crowd of people; did (he or) she just pass in the other direction? But why would it be her? If someone is on your mind enough suddenly anyone with so much as their hair color looks like them.
It’s not him who’d come
across the sea
to surprise you
You want it to be her, and soon you’ll find yourself rationalizing a hundred different reasons why it might be.
Not him who would know
Where in London to find you
Hope is such a terrible thing to have only to be lost. Eventually even the most stubborn of us all have to come to the realization nothing of the sort is ever going to happen. As much as you want it to be her in the distance, too far to distinguish; as much as you think you saw her walking on the sidewalk as you passed in your car; as much as you hope when the elevator comes to its loud, abrupt stop on your floor, and as much as you hope to then hear a knock on the door after the elevator’s gate crashes closed, as much as you hope it’s her, at some point you have to realize it isn’t, and it never will be again.
