this story

how can I ever
let you see what I've seen
on my journeys
this year gone past?

if you take my hand
(here)
and we climb the stairs
up to the attic

and
if you step inside
(there)
and we enter my room
over to the left

you'll see

how
the room is covered
from the floor to the ceiling
with the pictures I've taken
on my journeys
this year gone past

from fall, through winter
over to spring
and into summer

skylines
shades of then grey and now green
roadkill
songs of then given and now ours
to mundanely name a few

how can you ever
let me know
what you've felt
on our journeys
this year gone past?

if you fix a few pillows
(there)
and we take our time
under the rain

then
you can tell me all about it

we have time.

we got a new car

I took our new car
for a test drive

(we need the space
as us is getting bigger)

the car:
it's comfortable
it's BIG
it's bulky

and
I don't quite know
where it ends
and where the road begins

you're further away from me now
-- I doubt that your hand can reach me
I'll miss your hand
when I'm driving

but there's that extra space
that we paid for
-- so there's room in the back
and the seats, they pull back
so we can stop
and gaze at the rainbow