Both Sides Same Coin

He didn't love me either way. Drunk. Sober. Same reaction. Empty tunnel. Silent train. I should've understood. And I would've if. I mean, I do in that hopeless sense. That if you never allow it to begin you never have to live to see it end.

For awhile he loved me both ways. Then later neither. So it stands to reason that nothing changes me except for my own actions.

No bottle of beer made him love me more nor less. No lack thereof altered the wide of his eyes as he stared. He loved me with or without. Until it came to pass that I loved it more than anyone.

I wonder sometimes had things been different, how we might've loved each other had we really had the chance.

Had my life not taken we where it has. And his not swollen to such an extent. If there was more to be than what we are.

No time to answer to. No moments scattered. As if we were born right then. Too new to know all we always have.

He took the drink in much the dame ways I did. And so he left us in the same way he had entered.

Just what had been in its infinite doubt. That these lives could ever. That we lived regardless of the circumstance.

No tomorrow on our back porch. No yesterday to stain our lips.

You can flip it, but either side is the same coin. You can toss it in the air. But you can't tell it where to land.

That is how we love and still lose eachother.

Or how we tell ourselves that we did.

Two sides to the same coin. You and I. Or once we were.