approaching the city is likened to rushing open a blank page in which to write a fleeting revelation; for in seconds it will be lost if you don't.
you place your hands on your keys or grip the drying ink'd pen tight
and then in a moments pause, realize its gone,
is that awkward stare at the screen a failure of memory or the success of self-doubt stays you.
with nothing to add, you close the book, and hope that noone saw what may have been
another dream never to make its way into the light of right. now.
help me write my stories, and be there with a warm embrace
for i've come this far without you
and hated every step of the way.
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