You saw that Monet exhibit, same as me. We gushed over the beauty. Apart.
For awhile I knew this to be my fault, the reason we never intertwined.
But today I’ve had the distinct feeling that we are living parallel lives.
We can see each other but never touch. Never entangle as you wanted to, and now I.
Nothing is ever fair.
But I have a special bone to pick with whomever drew us in such a way.
Maybe you think that was me
Maybe I think it was too.
Many lines are crossing over mine, but I am jumping and ducking to stay at pace with you.
Even the vague delusion of a someday with you is incomparably better than the promise of them now.
