Plenty of conversations today. Plenty of wondering what we all do now. Time’s stood still in a way, but the years are there to prove otherwise. We’re different, subdued, but okay with it. Waiting on some innocent teenage love to save us, too old to believe it’s still possible, too stubborn to abandon the hope that it isn’t.

I’ve woken up for years and seen you. Your hair smells like summer feels when you’re a kid; worriless. We’re old and we’re withered and we’re there on that couch, the clock ticking in the hall, enveloped in the best of silences. Comfortable, a whole past to remember, laughter and anger and everything else; all stories behind pictures, all the truths that we were just before and just after we paused for those brief moments when they were taken. Who are we and who aren’t we? What were we and what weren’t we?

Never one of those people that didn’t know what they wanted, just that they wanted it. A dime a dozen in a world full of spare change, Goldilocks slinking out into the night, teeth chattering into smiles, spreading legs for legs up. One day the house will fall in. One day not so far off.

I’ve got you where I want you, fixed up here like a fresco on some ancient ceiling. Just can’t find the country. Just can’t picture angels anymore without serpent tails. Maybe wandering’s all I’ve got left. It’s got to end somewhere though. Somehow.