To Walk Those Streets Again

That night, sitting in that wooden table,

I just wanted to tell them that I had

found and lost what no one else seemed

to be looking for any longer: That love;

even I

had given up before, many times more

than I cared to remember.

I remembered yet another night too,

many months before, riding the 373 bus

back from the city, alone in the front seat

around 4am considering shooting myself in the head

but knowing all the way that the saddest thing of all was

that I actually did not own a gun of any sort.

I felt like crying desperate tears

like I'd never felt in all these years.

It would have been good

if I could have met myself that night, in the bus,

to tell my own self what I could not say the other night,

sitting in the wooden table:

that time would change, as it does,

and that I was not to find only sorrow

but also in us, my only chances of tomorrow.