I still dream about you.
Sometimes it is sad.
We are back where we used to be.
And when I wake up I am reluctant to open my eyes,
knowing it is my brain playing tricks.
Sometimes you are just there.
As I explore an old house,
and find a staircase that leads up and up and up,
you are waiting at the bottom to see what I do.
Sometimes it is exactly how we are.
We sit in English class and don't acknowledge eachother,
and when I stop at my locker after class you
hurry by.
Sometimes the past never happened.
Instead, you smoke pot with my brother in his room
and I read my book in the next room and wonder what you're laughing about.
I don't know which is the worst?
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