Thanks to you,
spending idle hours staring
at four pea green walls
was okay.
Thanks to you,
evenings held a
new meaning.
Thanks to you,
wheelchairs weren't
so bad.
Thanks to you,
my sharded excuse of a glass heart
was beating and flu-tter-ing.
But all things good come to an end
and like everything,
the brief days of waiting for you,
the evening sun through my
dully curtained window
and you smiling with your
windswept hair,
the distant honks and the
glazed city lights,
the nurses warning about
visiting hours
and you sneaking in a treat or two,
watching shades of mirth and sombre
dance in and out, back and forth
in those green eyes
I once called mine,
Yeah, everything was going to end.
Because tomorrow,
when I get discharged from
this place smelling awfully of
antiseptic and muffled wails,
and a very rare whisper of happiness
of new birth or second chances,
wemightgo back
tobeingstrangers.