There can never be a you-and-me;
Who knows where the road starts.
Seconds have slipped by through the window
When we weren't watching shared steps, but
Watching our own.
White doors fade into the background just
As quickly as they had surfaced
A moment before.
We follow the coloured one instead -
"Mine is blue, what is yours?"
Would have been the question asked.
Perhaps it is blue too
But the idea of perfection overwhelms.
Now we can only lose ourselves
And not each other.
***
Who knows where the road starts.
Seconds have slipped by through the window
When we weren't watching shared steps, but
Watching our own.
White doors fade into the background just
As quickly as they had surfaced
A moment before.
We follow the coloured one instead -
"Mine is blue, what is yours?"
Would have been the question asked.
Perhaps it is blue too
But the idea of perfection overwhelms.
Now we can only lose ourselves
And not each other.
***
This is a poem about missed oppurtunities, uncrossed paths and strangers. I was inspired by the possible irony of desperate people looking high and low for the perfect partner/friend who could've very well been that random person who stood three spots ahead of you in a grocery line last Wednesday afternoon.
Hope you enjoyed reading this :) Feedback is welcome.
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