Someday, the window will open
and a soft breeze will flow in; you won't mind it.
Maybe it will be a Monday; you'll be wearing a short-sleeved shirt
but it'll be okay. "This feels good," you'll remark.
I'll stand back, attempt to move forward, but step back again;
as indecisive and awkward as ever.
You'll turn and smile, and even reach
a hand out into the wind; more surface area for more happiness.
It'll be weird to see you smile, but nice;
I can't remember right now what your smile looks like,
but I know I used to enjoy it; you were so pretty.
Maybe on that Monday, you'll smile and close your eyes,
and move to sit on the edge of the window. You'll look out
and the smile will fade.
I sometimes think about why you don't smile anymore;
I can't tell for sure; there are too many broken puzzle pieces-
they won't fit to create a scene.
Maybe on that Monday I will regret not trying harder
to straighten and smooth out those pieces, trying to maybe
fill in the blanks with a crayon.
"Breezes are nice," you'll whisper. "I wish I could feel this way for the rest of my life."
You'll turn and smile with decisive eyes and I'll try to step across the room.
Maybe I should work out more, get exercise, improve my reaction time.
On that Monday, you will take hold of the wind and feel the breeze...
the entire way down.