Burst of Wind

Burst of Wind

Like a sweet burst of wind,
you whistle through my fingers.
I cannot keep you here,
nothing but memory lingers.
You dance right by me softly,
trampling my heart underfoot as you go.
And what this really means to you,
I guess I’ll never know.
I wear my heart, crystalline,
around my neck on its flimsy chain,
and though you seem unaffected,
I know pieces of it, with you, remain.
There’s hardly any way to write about love
without sounding so utterly cliché,
but if it is at all possible,
I swear I’ll find you the way.
If you could have one wish tonight,
I don’t know what you’d say.
I only know what I would wish,
and how my scene would play.
I’ve dreamed of how our movie ends,
but I don’t know if it’ll ever be real.
I don’t even know if we have a script,
let alone a fully-edited film reel.
So there’s one last thing I’ve yet to say,
before I take my leave.
Don’t break my heart, don’t analyze,
don’t pour me through a sieve.
Don’t cry for me, or lie to me,
or get yourself in too far.
But most of all, don’t assume,
don’t second guess what we are.