melancholia

the air felt good tonight.
walking slowly, breathing consciously,
heading back to pick up my car.
weaving through blank faced students
giggling over mundance incidents
things that arent meant to rhyme.

i wore my black fashionable jacket
with the slightly off centre collar
one of the few things i own
that make me feel as i am but twenty three
roaming around, in a wobbly way,
with nothing but scuff underfoot.

this is new again, broken and disjointed.
my knuckles arent used to my mind's way.
nevertheless, the walk, the air
the silence of flashing lights
intruding my space, the invasive noises
of sirens and chatter, bicycle spokes.

and i thought of you and us and how this was better
than rowing and not understanding, second guessing
and i thought of your kiss on my shoulder, your warmth around my waist
and how although we weren't right together
but maybe still not at all out of place
that really we compromised pretty damn well

to get ourselves out of the past three years at least.
but still, but still. all good things come to an end.
and one or more stops trying, and one or more starts crying
and one or more start thinking. that maybe there's better grass to rest
that little seed of doubt, that no wonder sprouts such envious grass,
will not be nurtured by me.

the cool night air passes over me, my head bowed i shrug through the crowds
i am walking forward and going nowhere. resolutely i will watch this seed of doubt,
i will watch it grow and envelope your toes. may you dance through it's fields freely,
and find the better grass to rest. as the silent solemn prophet, may i see your dreams come true.