I am only able to connect with people through music,
which, when I think about it,
is completely impractical,
almost as impractical as
learning how to skate in springtime
holding a teddy bear when you have nothing to lose,
drinking milk when you don’t want to be young again.
Come to think of it,
maybe that’s why I love milk so much:
when I drink it,
I feel like I’m four years old,
and I would love to be four years old again:
floating through playgrounds,
swimming through tree branches,
making love to nothing but the sweet, sleepy, summery afternoons,
when you are bored and have nothing to do
but shatter your coloring book
and float out the closed window pane of your future’s ragged apartment.
“Come with me,”
I whispered as I floated away.
And I’m still whispering (my life away with you).
Perhaps, “Tell me you love me,”
would have sounded better as an echo,
rustling through leaves,
drowning out the noise of our heartaches?
What a fool I was for choosing the words,
“Come with me,”
instead.