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What Will Be
I am freeing myself now
no more dwelling on what's never-to-be
I am glad to go
but what will happen
when we meet again?
will we pretend not to recognize each other
but still be able to tell
that the other was noticing
or will we stop for coffee
will you pay
or will you still be broke
will I twist a wedding ring around my finger
a nervous habit
while we talk
will I notice your familiar expressions
as you tell me of your adventures
will I guess correctly
that half your stories are made up
will you make me feel a little less smooth than usual
bring back buried insecurities
because you still intimidate me
just a little bit
but
will you make me laugh anyway
will my briefcase bang against my legs
will you tell me
that I swore I'd never go into business
will you tell me the names
of the kids in the cracked pictures in your wallet
will I have any pictures to show you
will my nails still be bitten down
or will I finally have dropped that
particular
habit
will I finally be able to walk in heels
and not trip
without your arm to hold me up
will your shirt be wrinkled
or
by then
will you have grown up
will I be grown up too
I hope not
will we both be remembering the same
silly
things
from when we were just stupid kids
will we be able to tell
that we are both thinking of that
will our minds still work together
against each other
in an endless game
of rock-paper-scissors
trying to think how many moves ahead
the other
was going to guess
you were going to think
(I'm already confusing myself)
or by then will our minds be on different planes
or will we be too old for stupid games
I hope not
I loved those stupid games
even though you usually won
I wish I could say I let you
but that would just be lying
and you lie enough for the both of us
but you didn't win all the time
will it matter to me
seeing you
or will
by then
I have truly stopped caring
I doubt it
but for now
let me just leave in peace
I don't want to worry about the next time
when I've only just stopped worrying
about the last
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Favorite Quote:
"Don't punish yourself," she heard her say again, but there would be punishment and pain, and there would be happiness too. That was writing."<br /> --Markus Zusak, "The Book Thief"