“Come Together” was playing on the radio
and you turned the dial.
I should have turned to look at your profile then,
though I’ve dreamt of it previously to the point
where I didn’t know the difference between memory, reality, and fantasy.
And it’s weird to me,
that I can’t remember exactly what you look like when you’re away,
but when I see you everything still falls into place.
So, so easily.
And the irony is, I can’t make you into the person I want you to be.
I know this now,
I’ve told myself over and over and it’s
better this way, I can only assume.
And I don’t really want you this way,
that is pretty much true.
I can’t make you make me
mixed CDs
and listen to music from the 80s and prior,
sing along with me to Motown.
I can’t make you dance with me,
admire me.
I can’t make you memorize me.
The way I’ve memorized you.
I can’t make you fall,
the way I did.
So, so hard.
But I can
make you smile still.
I can make you roll your eyes and laugh.
Sometimes hysterically.
I can make you want to fall asleep,
by trailing my fingers over your hand,
and you don’t tell me to shut up when I sing in your car.
So,
maybe it should not bother me when you don’t know it’s
Journey playing on the radio.
Maybe I should not find delight in the fact that I impress you
when I know what you’ve switched the radio to.
Yet you switch it to an R&B station and expect me not to dance with my hands.
I shouldn’t care that this annoys you.
But I don’t want to annoy you.
I’m scared you’ll tire of me again.
Though you say I don’t bore you.
I was just…”incomparable”;
too costly because you wouldn’t let me pay for a single meal.
I should apologize for wanting you in my life again.
Consistently,
at that.
That I want my best friend back.
I could lie and easily tell them I’m over you.
We both know that’s not true.
And yet,
there are things that I would one day want from you,
that you have given away
or cannot find means to compensate.
Because you turned the radio
when “Come Together” played,
and even though I am not a huge Beatles fan,
I have enough respect to let a classic play.
“I can turn you into poetry,
but I cannot make you love me.”
Trust me, when I say,
that whatever this is
is honestly okay.
And I’m not making up pretenses,
because being with you,
is good enough for me
for today.