Name:

Notepad

September 8th, 2005

SITTING ON A CURB

This morning I watch the sunrise from along the interstate
And think about how fine it is that every morning is a clean slate
It makes me think about how others live and how it affects me
How some days I feel like a lock, locked and without a key

I remember how you wouldn’t cry when we were sitting on the curb
You pulled yourself right out of that emotion, changed the subject with a quirk
and I was both dumbfounded and amazed at how you work
At that moment I realized you would not let it out

And I realized I’ve always found my confidence by sleeping in a bed of my doubts

So I write my little stories about hope in the face of inevitable pain
And I wonder if you’ve read this one and if you’ve changed
Sometimes I find myself putting words in your mouth and thoughts in your head
and I have to stop myself because none of it’s been said

And that’s when I think about responsibility and courage to make things right, to put in an effort
And I remember how each “sorry” becomes a little less sincere like a boy who cries wolf when the coast is clear
And I remember how you wouldn’t cry when we were sitting on the curb