God, it’s an awful con, isn’t it?
Just how long it can seem.
used to be a time I’d make fun of someone like me,
trapped so far from someone like you,
as if I was enlightened,
as if I knew better.
But I was strong,
but I never had to worry,
about feeling so a lone.
and it’s an awful con,
because you and me,
we know how short three months can be.
but i think we forget how long it is,
ain’t a fruit ever made it that long on our counter.
even frozen, I’d give you that look,
if we’re eating three month old left overs,
even though, even though, I know you’re right.
long enough to watch those hatchlings learn to fly.
long enough for a whole season to turn.
and it isn’t too long,
because I’ll be here until the end, darling,
but it’s too long.
It’s too long to spend only talking to your best friend,
once, maybe twice, a week.
So I repeat,
God, it’s an awful con, isn’t it?
Because when it’s all over,
it’ll have been no time at all,
and three months with you,
will never stretch so.
even when asked.
