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“Give it back,” she said,
“I’ll trade my freedom for
a photograph,”
pretending ending isn’t starting,
that her heart is hardly breaking,
that her hands are hardly shaking.
And the mess she’s hardly making
justifies the pills
She’s taking too much time,
afraid to look,
and more afraid of what she’ll find
when she opens up
those little curtains in her mind.
It makes it hard to
leave it all behind.

But she’s a big girl now.
She’s gonna make it somehow.
And though I’d never say
that that’s the best way,
well, if it works for her,
what can I say?

“Give it time,” I said.
“You try to race yourself,
you’ll fall behind,
always breaking
what you’re building.”
Though the flesh is always willing,
disappointment’s always killing,
and the tears never stop spilling.

And in a little while
she’ll make up her mind
to get on with her life.

©2003 Schroedinger’s Catbox