Change the Strings

It’s going to be hard to get to sleep tonight, when memory wears off and impatience remains. When first drafts are sent to instant regret; you know, it’s getting pretty tough to forget.
It was the perfect night for such great heights and when we hit the streets it seemed everything aligned; with the reddened leaves that fell so near and the radio you sung to so dear.
The angel smell will never grow old… not like the drugs we took, just to come down. Not like the words of love we never heard, or the sudden thought that never occurred.

We chased the buzz across town and back, and a hundred times over again. Come rain, shine, or Kingdom.
Hope was anorexic by April; a little voice praying it would all mean something someday.
It was afternoons in housecoat watching traffic and wishing someone would come along.
It was midnight jogs to Frontenac Street.
It was laughing with friends until the quiet walk home under light of dawn.