Flaws and Home

You told me once about your dream of us

eating anchovies by the beach

but then you changed your mind about eating animals.

So we drank champagne, making silly promises

walking hundreds of miles together

diving, swimming

holding on to ideas of a happy future.

My blue eyes and your blue eyes

looking at different sea creatures together all full of life, unbothered about what the future holds.

You no longer ask me when I'll come back home - you no longer wait for me.

Your time and mine - everybody’s time

accelerating

and the sky above - a sad blue place.

We keep counting moments, awaiting some big success to arrive,

but all the food me and you ate, all the times you woke me up at night -

that’s home.

No terrible arguments, no apocalypse just yet

your vain friends and my vain friends, whatever;

we can’t have it all perfect:

the green ocean that should have been blue ,

the AC blasting away and your wool jumper in July,

the confusing world, the long distance love, the collapsing American dream.

But as usual, you don’t believe dreams can fall apart

and you lie there in the dark, dreaming.