the sounds of a faraway song dance through from another room
we stand before the portraits of some generations forgotten under time
your finger traces your glass, half empty or half full, i don't care
an arm's distance between our shoulders
step closer, i wish to shout
we watch the age dusted face of a woman, to avoid each others eyes
your eye color, i regretfully cannot remember
look at me, i wish to say
have you moved nearer?
you have; our knuckles graze
i wonder if the lady in the portrait ever felt this way
had she ever dreaded falling asleep, had she ever wished for the day to wake faster
the song of a party gone a little too long changes, and we turn and our eyes meet
hello
what beautiful eyes you have, how could have i forgotten
you look over my shoulder, at the window behind me
it's raining, you say
and you hesitantly, gently, take my hand in yours
let's go, you say, i'll walk you home
i follow without a word; how could i not?
stepping into the rain, i glance back at the woman in the portrait
at the gaze forever caught in a swirl of paint and oil
to whom i wonder, did those eyes look at the way you look at me?
the rain sparkles in your hair, my dear, and we run
to the stormy skies above and the depth of time itself, i say
whoever they are, etched onto a canvas, i hope they find this feeling
of rain running into their eyelashes
tripping over nothing, and gasping out laughter
and through it all, the feel of a hand grasping theirs
you say something over the steady drumbeat of the rain
i could not hear you at all, my dear, i laugh
i don't know until when this lasts
but right this instant i am alive, oh i am alive and that remains true for the time you are with me
let me be selfish when i say, that is all that matters
for here i am, and here you are
there is nowhere i would rather be than with you