There’s a moment of weakness, when it could go either way.
I could send the message that asks how you are
after all this time
half-hoping that you're different, now.
That I’d gotten it all confused those summers ago
when I didn’t want you inside of me
but didn’t tell you no.
I don’t like to think about it
not too much
because unpicking that night that was almost morning makes me feel like I did something wrong, except
It was you.
It was you
and I only realised that for the first time when I saw your face on the telly.
You became the poster child for something so very good
so very worthy
so very important.
As I changed the channel I thought how strange it was
that with an audience
your compassion overflows
and I wonder how many us know that it doesn't spill past a closed door.