This is apparently my 200th post. Cool.
The voice in my head wavers when it ponders conversation
of all the things I want to say to you. There just isn't enough
time, love. The Fountain of Youth exists in you and in me.
At the cost of living our short, menial lives, I can write it all down
and forever and for always we will be remembered,
the topics of teachers and lovers, with even some overlap.
Yet, that would only be the illusion of our reality
for our greatness can be in our roles, models to the youthful,
naive and vigorous. Immortal words are alive and so cold,
Imprisoned between covers, the land that many covet,
only igniting and living to their potential when exposed.
I'll save that story for when my bones ache from the miles
we've hiked, my eyes grow dim, burnt by the setting sun,
and I've had a long time to reconcile my pain and happiness.
Once the scales balance and I've done the best I can, then I'll
tell our story, and let it by my dying work to preserve our love
for as long as this funny species of humans works to grow,
while remembering their roots, and it is with all my hope that,
just this once, history repeats itself.