False Trail

I never knew

that I wanted a house with a yard,

or a big old tree with a tire swing

that hangs over the parked cars

with the embarrassing decals of a family—

stick-figure kids and everything.

I never knew

what it truly meant to be loved.

I thought of Paris, France, and Cary Grant charades;

a long laugh at a best man's toast;

and the dragging cans on the highway.

But nothing hard could ever be that soft,

and the good times—they came easy.

Like a honeymoon, they rise and fall.

Love is curled up on a bathroom floor

while the world outside keeps screaming.

And you'll wonder what it's all been for,

and her hand on your back means everything.

I never knew

how lame these parties really are.

I want to waken. Awaken. To wake up.

But everyone keeps talking over nothing,

so I guess I'll just sit back down—

hey, pour me a drink.

So I can sit and wait through another story

about how nothing ever changes.

But maybe—just maybe—it's not my fault.

Maybe they were the ones telling it wrong.

I never knew...

I was hunting it all along.

I was hunting it all wrong.

I was hunting.

I was.

...and now I've lost the scent.