i think, perhaps, if luck wasn’t so artificial,
superstition might crawl its way into
my list of causes for the memories i wish were real.
i spend another dollar on a lotto ticket where
i earn nothing except those sticky silver shavings
and a paper sparkling with hope of greed.
how many times will i waste more in hopes of great gain?
such is the question i used to ask myself
before i realized something like
before-love might be real.
it’s one of those things where i recognize life
to have certain pieces, holding them in its hand
and just out of reach. or it makes sense now
how all the songs which may sound so
different say the same things.
i don’t know if the stars aligned,
or simply right place, right time, but i
wouldn’t give this up,
(whatever “this” is) even if it was only chance
which brought me to this moment,
hoping against hope that we brush shoulders again
and i pretend not to see you stare, trying to see through me.
crawls out of bush. puts this note in ur pocket. crawls back into forest.