separate lives. river splits the two, the two versions of ourselves. you know.
over there all verdant where a canopy of contentment stands over manicured yards and money raining down all timely and whatnot. a rive gauche for the accomplished who sleep sweetly and love deeply and things are straight and teeth perfect and none need hindsight. a life we think better that actually exists.
makes me think of
these separate lives. of ours. well mine. from the ole here now. not just about means or money or status, but the disconnect of knowing and faith, from still hoping and just dreaming. my feet banked with acceptance rather than disappointment. still swinging for dimly lit, rippling dreams, still reaching and learning.
makes me realize finally
that over there begins, you know, over here.
