Aesthetic Writings

One Of These Days

And one of these days, when I drive past your house, I won't look at your window to see if you're still waiting for him. One of these days, I won't see the flowers, and remember the night he presented them to you. I won't look at your porch and remember when you ran past me, and into his arms. One of these days, I'll look at your house, and my heart won't feel like a thousand knives trying to break out and search for you.