One Warm Night

It was one of those nights you'd never remember,
A night that was just there.

If we hadn't happened that warm, beautiful night,
It would have been a night that was just there.

Who thought a pod so alike would be,
Yet so different in every way.

Who thought those who could never be,
Might just one night, have happened there.

One story at a time, it came pouring out,
It wouldn't stop even if I willed it to.

The stories were what was bound to happen,
Even if I wanted my mouth to never say.

Now, it happens everyday,
a bond that's here to stay.

A want, a desire, that is no longer our say,
It is here to forever stay.

What are you running from?

Did it start with the Bogeyman under your bed, waiting to grab your feet?

Or was it the eerie feeling of desolation when you lost your mother's hand for a moment in the crowd?

When did this fear walk in? Without even making a noise,

When did it become okay to fear, to run and to hide?

How come the things you heartily chose yesterday are the things that overwhelm you today?

The path that seemed to be flowering roses is a bed full of thorns?

Why is the fear of being vulnerable more than the regret of never saying what needs to be said?

For those words need to be thrown out there, thrown open into the air.

It must be the desire for perfection,

or the want to please them all.

It must be the fear of looking like a damn fool,

or the need to appear stone strong.

Because why are you so busy running, when there is nothing to run from at all.