Some days I find myself living
A thousand different lives all at once,
As though each adolescent possibility
Somehow made it to adulthood.

In one reality, perhaps I could have
Loved her; hers could have been
The ribcage behind which I deposited
My deceptively vulnerable heart;
Hers could have been the smile
That welcomes me home.

There are cities that I never got around
To visiting, but that seemed so serious,
So possible, once upon a lifetime.
Finally, I would know the true meaning
Of sweat, of prejudice, of individualism,
Of inequality. Now, they are but
Half remembered dreams, jockeying for position
In a head full of too many memories.

Now, it is a destination of disdain, a magnet
That only the weak fail to resist, but
Could it have been my home too?

When I am so tired that my bones
Double in weight, I feel like a teenager.
I allow myself merely to drift to
Wherever the current will keep me afloat.

It is as if there is time, but I am
Pouring it down a thousand different
Drains, watching all of the imagined
Possibilities following it into oblivion,
Remembering each as though it really
Happened.

07/16/2014

Posted on 08/26/2014
Copyright © 2025 Richard Vince