Average Wonders

Broken stars and numbered days

Sometimes I wonder how the world looks from your perspective;

I wonder if everything looks a little off-center to you, too,

if maybe you walk outside at night sometimes to contemplate life but then realize the stars

have become too blurry to see.

I used to wish on invisible galaxies that I would be lucky enough

to be able to hold your hand until the end of the world and then some,

but I'm a thinker at heart, not a dreamer,

so now I wish that I'll never forget the way your hand fit so perfectly in mine.

I know the world spins too rapidly to really realize the relativity of anything,

but I'd rather define the charred petals of us in terms of our Last Good Day together

than by a numbered box on a calendar;

I see you often but the hole in my heart where yours doesn't fit anymore makes me miss you.

Even if I can't see the stars clearly

I'd still wish on at least one that you remember me, too, not by how I hurt you

or how either of us could have made the world spin a little slower for a while,

but by the day we danced late at night to cliche ukulele music and had our last first kiss.

Remember me not by the day we had to say goodbye,

but by the day I told you I loved you and you replied with the same simple poem

and for a little piece of infinity

everything was okay.

I know someday the world will end and our story will end with it,

but if love really is the only thing we take with us when we die

then please leave the days I regret most, the days I wish I could keep apologizing for,

and take instead the days you let me hug you goodbye;

the days we were in love.