i can’t write you love songs
i can’t write you dreams
the longing i feel is brimming out of my chest
and all i want is a road home.
i wrote you a love song once when the moon was full
and young love was in it’s bloom;
i called you my haven, your arms were warm
and in my memories, forever so.
i can’t write out my escape anymore
because the roads are twisted by despair
and city lights light up my skies
i long for clear Vancouver air.
i remember the snow, fresh upon my face
and your fingers entwined in mine,
cold wind blowing through our jackets –
you kissed me in mid-air and i loved you.
i love you.
i think the distance ensnares our sanity.
i can’t write much anymore,
and definitely not the memories.
it hurts too much, and too little, all at once
i am gasping for happiness
grasping for life to mean something, anything
but all i have are wishes.
i could wish that fairytales do exist
i could wish for you to never forget me
i could wish for our friends to see what we see
i could wish for happy
but the universe is full of that.
empty wishes and emptier regrets.
so i hold on to my trite cliches
and do my best to write away
i can’t write you love songs anymore,
and definitely not poetry,
but i can do my best to wish you well
and pray that you are happy.