I look up and suddenly it's winter.
It's getting dark at 4:30 pm
and the Christmas lights are twinkling in the square
and I'm filled with a nostalgic, wistful emotion
that I want to get rid of.
Thinking about November and December
and wishing I could do it all over again.
To experience it again or to change it?
I'm not even sure that I know.
Drinking Smithwicks with old friends,
watching the planets align,
building forts like little kids,
wearing raspberry hats on my fingers,
dancing in the darkness of your kitchen.
The mediocrity of it all.
How you sleep closest to the door,
how you bite my bottom lip,
how we're always talking about utter nonsense
and how it always feels important in some way—
somehow.
When the lights go down and you reach for me in the dark.
When the music dies and we're left sitting in silence.
I fell in love with you during the most ordinary time in my life
and I don't know if that says more about you or me.
If I was stranded on a desert island
and could only have three people with me,
I'd choose you, three times.
I know you feel it too.
You pause when you look at me.
You don't linger like that for anybody else.
The way you feel drawn to me in a crowded room.
The way you long for me.
It's over, it's over, it's over
but how do I get rid of the ache I feel for you?
It's New Year's Eve (my favorite holiday)
and I took off work
and I started climbing again
and everything hurts but everything is good
and I can't explain it really —
but I just know that I'm exactly where I need to be.
Here.
