i spoke with a good friend last night, amidst stained table cloths and wrapping paper fights.
despite immature jokes, he became a boy, vulnerable, pure confusion, heartbreak, and joy.
tables spun and drinks were poured, i watched the blonde angel as her happyness soared,
i'm an island where fun and laughter did abound, surrounded by friends, but not quite there...
waiting at the bus-stop for the twelve forty-two, living on a prayer, do i have better things to do, than to sit around and wait for childish dreams to come true? should i grow up and learn to pave my own way, unassisted? i asked him perhaps too many questions, but with answers he persisted. and i was reminded of the shattered innocence that is too easy to forget...
my winged heart is learning, day by day, to fly in unexpected directions, to those who most need its affections - no longer for my selfish needs - i'm learning in rivers (sometimes), "how do you feel?" and so i'll hope with my heart that yours will soon heal.
"i could write you a symphony"
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