You said "don't go changing,
I'll rearrange to let you in.
And I'll be your historian.
And you'll be mine.
And I'll fill pages of scribbled ink.
Hoping the words carry meaning".
Then one day, the motorcade
Covered in flower wreaths,
First in a big parade
Will come to take one of us away.
Leaving the other with plenty to read.
This is what I want to talk about,
But somehow the words will not leave my mouth.
Was I most complete at the beginning or the bow?
If past you were to meet future me,
Would you be holding me here and now?












