no next time

there will be no more
of these misty hours

no more windy walks

the cracks in the pavement
will be just like any cracks,
the rain falls just the same
-- yet, I've said goodbye
and there is no 'Well, next time'

no salty smell from the docks whirling in the city
no manic driving through the stillwater suburbs
no one within reach

even under pressure,
overcome by reasoning,
being crushed by time,
I have to ask:

why can't I trust how I feel
will get through?
why do I think what I want
will just bounce off?
why can't I dare to ask?

tomorrow too late to regret

all grownup, I think
...and still so undecided when facing 50-50