Flapping calendars and tocking clocks

keep tugging me back to tease out the sense,

to unravel the truth in the snapshots and scenes

that kept on appearing while I kept careering.

While every day I kept moving further away

from something I needed to know, from yesterday.

 

Some nights when I dream

I see sights tense yet serene.

Where we were the answer,

Just you and me and flippancy.

And there’s one fading snapshot,

one image of us is all that I’ve got,

dreaming together of running away,

of moving away.

But then moving became me

and I became motion

perpetual and free,

endlessly drifting

on a gentle ocean of always until…

 

Back then you were my glamourous glorious exit,

Back then you were the door I never dared open because

Back then I needed that door to open in me:

To give me permission to dream to be me.

 

And there hangs the plot,

the truth in the dreams

in the snapshots and scenes.

Through movies and TV and lyrics in songs

I swallowed the screenplay

and spewed out the parts

Love was about tragedy, about heartache and loss

and long empty highways and tumbling moss.

 

But suppose there’s no time, no calendars, no clocks,

And there’s no need to blame; I know I was the block.

Then this is the time and until stops here

As still I keep moving, still further away

… and slowly pan out for the credits to play.