He sat up in bed, looking at the picture on the mantle
He sighed, not a thought in his head but her
And as he rose, ever so careful not the wake the dog
On the floor, he walked to the desk and pulled out
The map again...the dust filled his lungs...
How could it be taken out every day yet still end up
So dusty? The twine surrounding the aging paper
Long lost...and the gentle unrolling, filling the length
Of the desk, and his immediate sigh...eyes looking
Over the paper, so much in the world, so many
Places she wasn't, he wasn't, so many places
They weren't...and he let his breath out ever so
Slowly as his finger reached a certain spot, and
He whispered softly, "There. She's there."
He already knew that she was, but he didn't believe
And as long as he kept on discovering it, maybe
It would always be another day away...and as the
Telephone rings, and he knows it isn't her, he
Lets the tears fall from his eyes, and he fails to
Keep her a secret from himself any longer...
And the dog, licking his cheek, and he, allowing
Himself to be weak, and she, somewhere thinking
Of night...how can it all turn out so right?
And he listens to the phone rings mesh with the
Clock and he walks to the bed and he dies there
Until the next night when again he can cry
And the world will start over, the world will start
Over, the world will start over again. |
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