right then
it’d be easy for me to forget your face,
turning over photos of you that watch me write.
but i need your eyes to poke holes in my soul
and press rewind on the memory of that night.
right then, when you told me i was beautiful,
me? i thought you were wrong.
i’ve spelled this out for you a thousand times.
and you? well, you wrote the song.
i keep telling myself i’m your history,
and it’s been so long since you’ve studied me
that i’m doomed to keep on repeating myself
over and over and over again.
maybe the day will come when suddenly
we’ll just shrug off all this uncertainty,
slam shut this book of forgotten dates
and our lives will become
right then.
but now thinking of you is pedaling backwards
to times disremembered and love unembraced,
to anticipation long past its date of expiration,
through page upon pages of passion erased.
they say it’s a matter of expectation
it won’t happen if you want it, and wanting just hurts.
right then, i think, i’ll keep waiting like always
till you give in or i give up, whichever comes first.