we've probably passed each other,
whether on the street, at the mall,
online, in the newspaper,
on the interstate, in a restaurant,
at church, in the park,
at the beach, on a plane.
maybe multiple times,
maybe only once.
maybe I'll recognize your face when we first meet,
maybe I won't.
New Orleans is a small city
(if that's even where you are).
but maybe we haven't passed each other
maybe we've just merely co-existed
one of us leaves too early,
one of us enters too late;
almost passing each other,
almost encountering one another.
or maybe we've never encountered another.
maybe we're not even close to each other.
maybe we're always on the wrong street,
in the wrong city, in the wrong state,
the wrong country, the wrong hemisphere,
always taking the wrong step.
maybe we're co-existing in a different way;
never in the same area, never in passing
but right as I'm writing this poem,
you're thinking about the day we'll meet.
maybe we're both praying at the same time,
both watching our same favorite shows.
when my eyelashes seem to be the most stubborn part of me,
maybe it's because you're being haunted by nightmares.
maybe when I'm feeling anxious and don't know why,
it's because you're about to embark on a new journey.
maybe when I'm happy, for a split second, for no reason,
it's because somewhere, you're happy too. and you're laughing.
or maybe you don't even think of me.
maybe, you're falling asleep in someone else's arms,
sharing parts of you with her, that should be saved for me.
she's the one who can calm your anxiety,
the one who gives you her all,
the one you think of when you imagine the future.
******
song -- "Patron Saint," Regina Spektor
YOU ARE READING
My View from the Mount
PoetryA really close friend (she's the older sister I never had) once told me that I don't need to be established to consider myself a writer. So here I am. I'm a writer, but I'm not a professional. I'm just a girl with a pen who speaks through a notebook...
