Maybe one day
you will come back.

Maybe one unsuspecting day,
I will wake up
to new mail
sent from you.

Maybe one day,
I will come around the corner
to see your smile,
the bright if your eyes.

But it’s more likely
that I won’t.

It’s more likely
for the planet to plummet
out of orbit
and send us spinning
into the sun.

It’s more likely
for this lottery ticket
to be a winner
sending my money woes
hurtling into memory.

It’s more likely
for time travel
to be discovered
so that I might go back
and start again.

My dusty,
half-finished novel
or these angsty poems
are more likely
to be published
than you picking up the phone.

Mountains will tumble
and rivers overflow
before you tell me the truth.

The world will have to end
before you fall to your knees
in submission to this truth.

Maybe one day,
the need to hear my voice
will force your fingers
to do what your heart wants,
but I doubt it.

Isn’t it funny
that you will do anything
to hide your love
while I will do anything
to speak it?

4 thoughts on “Maybe

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