I read through
the volumes of my life
words
letters on pages
strict neat lines
and i hear the same beat
the same melody
the same theme
and i read the same poem
worded 50 different ways
all about a different boy
and even without the names
being mentioned
i know who each poem belongs to
i close my eyes and picture
the best moments
with each of them
but with age
the volumes get bigger
more stories to contribute
more emotions
to polariod
more tears to crystalize
i read the volumes
and I smile
and in smiling
i think
and dream
and wonder
and i roam over all the possibilities
the numbers
adding up
the heart
a delicate thing
but so forgiving
and unrelenting
as the pages turn
and the wounds
reopen and heal
i cant help but wonder
have i just not found
THE ONE
or was i ever really
looking for him
in the first place?