this is where you stand.

opportunities are not unlike cobwebs;
in all likelihood they were always there
and it's only when you brush them away
that you note their presence.
and you, with your bone-straight hair and
skin like soapstone,
you are a memory with a depression in the center
where happiness pooled like rain;
and in the end you are the only thing
i ever wanted to try
more than once.

but i'm here to tell you that
you're back, but you're not alone
and i won't let you be alone,
because i am not dependent anymore

[i move surrounded by things that i could live without, love
don't you know that breathing is an art form?]