We meet outside the tennis courts,
We go and sit by the fence,
Prickly twigs prick our backs,
But we do not care.

I tell you about my dreams and goals,
You tell me about yours,
I’m so proud of you and yet,
I don’t think I ever fully expressed it.

You pass over some water while we sweat,
I don’t always feel replenished.
I twist through my days, walking on stiff legs,
I don’t know why I am like this.

Shadows pass overhead,
From sunlight slipping between cracks,
I’m so happy to be back here,
But something does not feel real.

Disconnected and attached,
Afraid to speak my thoughts which shake me to my bone,
I twist again and again,
You watch me with no understanding,
Through no fault of your own.

Why am I back here?

The streets shift, you stay the same,
Familiarity is my only clue,
The network of my world, my glue.

As we move through that crowd I’ve seen before,
As we speak that conversation I know the end to,
I fall back.
A figure looms over me and will not speak.
I am stuck.
I wake up on a table, cold and hard,
The figure still looms there,
Working away at something.

And I open my eyes,
Not to tennis courts, streets or crowds,
To dust and still,
I cannot get up and you are not here.