when all else subsides,
when the city sleeps for the night,
when everyone’s tucked in after dining on each other’s disposable lives,
when some contemplate that one end we dread (or not),
when the wind drags the unwilling, brown leaves along the deserted pavement,
the ghosts of our yesterdays haunt the places we secretly love so much,
and i’ll tell you how it goes,
if you would let go what you own for a moment, swing open your door, if only you could find the time, i’ll tell you all you need to know:
why my knees are bruised, why my arm is purple, why my lips are dry, and why my eyes are sore..
and why they’ll never go back to the way they were before, why time is such a great master, and how i’m such a good learner?
I really don’t know.
`-to Josh Radnor