loved to read, yet I always have been ripped from the pages-
choosing oblivious eyes without a second thought
(not because I want to, but because everyone else is)

loved to sing, yet i always have picked the wrong pitch-
picture perfect platter hits concrete with a clatter
(sound waves like thunder, which i’ve always known)

loved to swim, yet the current didn’t use to pull so hard-
phantom voices and familiar tastes right on the edge of my tongue
(these times should be long gone, you know)

loved to talk to you, but we stopped stealing those moments-
i think there’s only so much that i can carry alone
(but then i see what you do, and i can’t help but wonder)

chose to change, they say, yet i don’t remember when
but perchance it was the world instead, between you and i
(this time has not quite sat well with my soul)