She said she saw me in the opening of her eyes,
She said she saw me and the openness is no surprise,
She took with her, her wearable wall,
To block out the sad things, but most of all,
The uninvited encounters
of hindered heartbeats,
The fragile promises of love that she carefully keeps,
Held close in her slender fingers
curled into a slender fist,
Stuffed deep into the left-hand pocket of her hooded sweatshirt,
She holds on tight 'cause once she lets go,
The promise fades away,
and turns to memory,
And memories can be tender,
And memories can bring pain,
But the promise of fragile future,
Is a youthful anticipation
of what is to be,
Or rather what can be,
It is a beautiful daydream,
It is a pure emotion,
Unencumbered by memory or reason,
It is the promise of magic and fireworks,
It is fearless fairytale passion,
It is wordless and thoughtless,
Full of mysteries that cannot be easily conveyed,
It is ideal love,
Untarnished,
Untorn,
It is the clean white sheets when you wake up in the morning,
It is the smell of fabric-softener on your pillowcase,
It is the sun streaming in from the half-closed windows,
Beckoning you to arise,
But you can't help but to lay and lounge,
Half asleep,
Half awake,
But all alive,
Curled up in the cool blue comfort of a cotton comforter,
And maybe it's Spring,
Or the lazy Late-Summer,
Caught in the fragrant fingertips of the coming Fall,
And it's late-morning,
You crack open your sleepy eyes,
And watch little pieces of dust slowdance in the warmly-lit air,
As they swirl around the pulled-back curtains that sway,
You close your eyes,
And fall back,
Into one last dream.
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