Ringing the half door setting halfway
then on to rest for the evening
leaving the bell to tell otherwise.
No plan but pretend to float unencumbered by the surrounding gravity of jealous rejection.
Staring at the door won’t allure opens and then,
beeping and thumping, the chime sounds of fun,
teases the alone though they know not to listen.
“Reach out to grasp the hold and lift up,”
as limp falls from waiting,
still, the challenge of who clings back demands choices more scary than fate.
“Just talk and listeners will gather,”
or at least the sound passed through perception for a moment before they decided to avoid the vibes you resonate,
an awkward trick captured for an evening by those with nothing else to do yet not with you,
gracious enough not to see the distance
from when the jokes landed ’til now.
A forever child passed by the next and took to the future
as our collective memory skips over the troughs and launches to extinguish.
We grow up dreaming of a destination,
that upon arrival, changes beyond desirable,
the difference between aspiration and love.
On the later side, hypocrisy seems more honest than dogmatics,
yet less offensive than performative devotionals.
Too many valuable voices cause a cacophony,
obscuring the obvious, and exchanging interest for theater.
We expect the long shadows to cover everyone eventually
and they may explain the changes of heart.
