A token look
a token book
a token key
on a broken hook
that shoots to the ground
with a slight burst of air
when you enter the room
with your cold, burning stare.
A token key
in the open sea
of when will you next come and visit me?
A question that echoes
and bounces right back
because nobody knows
if it's fiction or fact.
A token book
with trace paper pages
that span the vastness
of multiple ages.
It's timeless
no matter the date or the year,
it speaks to me always
and so loud and clear.
A token look
so strong and so layered
misinterpreted
as hateful and fray-ed
and even as I write these thoughts from my head
I know that I might have betrayed what you said.
I still think on
and I still think of you
and I hope that this token
shows a hint of my view
because I never close doors
without leaving a key
on a hook somewhere close
in case you ever need me...
And yes, I still treasure those memories
that I re-read in the book that you never left me
and I don't know if you still keep yours
but just in case, look under the door.
Because the look was imagined
and it might not be true
but I hope that sometime
I will look on you
and won't see a mirror of pain that is past
but I'll see a future;
separate/
joined,
but happy
at last.
