There are many things I’ll not figure out, none of which I have answers for. There’ll never be a problem to which that I can solve whole. There’ll not be a chance I can see where I’ll figure out the right from wrong, which led me down this path of awe, and gold, all new.
I’ll never know whether it was right, or wrong, which helped me end up where I am now, and I’ll never know whether what I’m doing will prove my worth to any of you. It matters not what could’ve been, or would’ve been, or what might be and it matters not what once has been or never was.
I’ll forever keep in mind, that one has to fall and hit the ground to figure out how to stand and I’ll forever keep in mind, the mind frame expected of a man.
I figured out I knew you, from the day we first met and figured out we’d have a lot, too much to regret. I never realised how much had already been, or what was yet to come– it wriggled in our skin. It pushed our paths so far apart, from what they could’ve been, but it matters not what sin has happened, for we will never win; at life, at goals, at Paradise, all are but a dream.
We forget what we found, in each other’s hearts, a sense of heareth, which played a powerful part. It dragged us down and held us tight, clamping onto our sense of light. It clouded our direction, and gave us quite a fright; without it now, it hinders our own might. It isn’t too bad if we forget what got us here, from our plights, our crucibles, and negative appeals, but what would be bad is if we kept the pain that we felt soar, between our fingers and between our toes. It fed on our audacity and our stubborn need to roar.
We may be heading in different directions, and we may be getting old, but reminiscing about our hearts is what helped our stories get told. That sensation that once tendered us is now a world apart.
The world does tease me, with people who play their part, in our lives and after them, weighing down our hearts. Sometimes family and sometimes friends, sometimes it’s the little things that stop us in our trends, but never has it stopped me from being here for you.
I thank you, life, for allowing me to remain true.
I thank you, friend, for showing me the darkness in you.
I don’t think I’ll let myself remember why we hide, this side, that side, clinging to my hide. Freedom is a fickle thing that lets us burn and grow, but stops us from freezing, from our heads to our toes. So remember this, and remember that for one day you will stop, and ask me “What was that?”