Maybe it’s the control.
I have none, everywhere else,
Too far to worry about losing myself,
In a whirlwind of emotion.
You said late last night
You hoped to see me
Sooner than never.
That’s so clever.
Maybe we could be better
Two broken halves
The realities of your life,
Chosen but still thrust upon you,
Breed anxiety and nightmares of fire;
Burning sites, deadly gunfights…
Nights of never ending awakenings.
The realities of my life,
Born to it but still shocked at every turn,
Spawn hate and dreams in which I yearn,
To forget everything I’ve ever learned…
Nights of constant insomnia.
Maybe it’s the lack of control.
You always need to be on guard,
Too far away for surprises,
Too far away to be hard.