Conventional Life

I’ve cried at the end of every story

Because I know what those stories mean

For all of their developments and all of those you’ve met

Every plot is just an ending that hasn’t happened yet

It’s in the details of every scene, in the silence and the pause

It’s in the lives and happiness that can only hint at greater loss

A little piece of me has gone into every life I pretend to see

What a blessing, what a curse, to watch the passing moments of each life that cannot be

When friends are at a distance and life is spent alone

What a petty thing to have to say that even the imagined might have to go

Are they not important? Have they not done enough?

You’d think the lives they’ve been forced to lose more than meets the cost

I wish that you could understand, or perhaps that you could see

What living lives that I must end has always done to me

I’ve tried to see you all as meaning more than my written word

But for the never lasting life of me, you’re one more thing I’ve yet to learn

You’ll never be the ones I’ve wished would always be here with me

For all the flesh and bone you offer, you’re nothing compared to the dream

Where things are cold and simple, and even if there’s often pain

The greatest friends I’ll never lose are the ones I’ve had to make

They’re hidden in the word count and cut from the hopes I’ve had

And I’ve lost so much of who I’ve been for the sake of what will last

You’ve never understood the man I am or the stories that I’ve told

And you’re so much less than the men I’ve made who have souls they haven’t sold