Life in the past.

There are roses. And heart-shaped balloons and
confetti type things that
are annoying because they get everywhere in all the little
small crevasses and gaps, all the in-betweens.
There are days set aside and tied up in sentimental sentiment
and also ribbons.
There are scribbled graffittied blue-lined
notebooks that say nothing except how much we all want to
bridge the white space of the page that's like the white space
both denied and admitted with a childish ever-after,
a word,
used by everyone and the biggest most obnoxious
cliche in the whole wide world. Yet
exactly what I mean. You
and a blank space and me and some air making the car
windows fog up with messy alphabets.
There's no epiphany here not even a grassroots one not
even and then a whispered prayer.
You hold me from so so far away.