make you believe, make you forget

"if i could walk on water, if i could tell you what's next." chances are you'll never know. deer in headlights, then the impact and it's like you never knew what hit you. it's like looking down on yourself from somewhere else. i don't remember breathing. i don't remember crying. i remember someone holding my hand and then you, there, pale-faced in a polka dot shirt. i'm not really a poet (and i don't even know it) but one time i wrote a poem where the windshield cracked and we all fell down but our ribs weren't broken and everything was okay. that night there was no cracked windshield spiderweb spiraling out and my bones were broken but you were there and still, somehow, somehow everything was okay.

and to tell you the truth, i would go anywhere. i'd go to the desert and watch the sun set dark and red as the oversize moon rises up above the horizon. i'd go to the city and watch it light up at night, pretty and dirty and wonderful. i'd go to the forest and make a bed out of pine needles or stay inside and watch the raindrops roll down the windowpane. i could take these heavy feet and learn to fly, but instead i wait. for sun, for splendor, for the orange leaves to fall and green new ones to grow in its place. winter is coming, quiet winter when the snow had fallen and it's like everyone in the world is holding their breath at the same time. in the winter everyone goes to sleep. i just want to be awake.