If Other People See You

In School, The Year Was The Marker. Fifth Grade. Senior Year Of High School. Sophomore Year Of College. Then After, The Jobs Were The Marker. That Office. This Desk. But Now That School Is Over And I've Been Working At The Same Place In The Same Office At The Same Desk For Longer Than I Can Truly Believe, I Realize: You Have Become The Marker. This Is Your Era. And It's Only If It Goes On And On That Will Have To Look For Other Ways To Identify The Time.

Is That All We Need? Can The Way We Say Each Other's Names Encompass All Our History, All Our Love, All Our Fear, All Our Fights, All Our Reunions, All Of What We Know About Each Other, All Of What We Don't Know?

I Have Become Very Good At Clearing Histories.

Everyone Tried With Me. And Everytime, It Felt Like The Whole Point Of Life Was To See If Trying Was Ever Enough.

I've Lost Track Of Where Friendship Ends And Falling Begins. (this Is The Foolish Refrain Of The Hopelessly Devoted.) There Are Times I Want To Kiss You Midsentence. Undo The Not-doing With One Gesture.