Of maps, red ink blots and hollowed parts

/ Sunday, August 28, 2011 /
in my head, we were both singing the same tune.
i, slightly off-key; you, humming it all out flawlessly.
shall i start counting in their superficial sighs 

while i lose track of your secret smiles?

you drew me a map;
we pretended we were lost.
let us play pretend; let us all pretend we're just playing it in.
playing it in my head over red ink blots and pink plastic pots.

the hollowed  is dying to be filled 

and the filled is waiting to be emptied.
all i have are words unspoken; 

the quite obvious still unsaid.
tell me, it couldn't be just all in my head.


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I usually say, in the end, okay, it’s love and it’s work — what else could there possibly be? -- Maira Kalman


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