If, if I could wind

The rusty hinges of your clock

Back to the place, the beginning,

where the numbers disappear

and the hands rest forever,

I would.

If I could unweight your scales

and if, for only a second,

you could know weightlessness,

I would.

If I could hold up a mirror to you,

And allow you to see not your mind,

But the limitless truth;

your yearning for love, a walk through sunlit pines,

a moment–out of time–laying on the grass, naming clouds,

I would.

To rewind, if I could,

And whisper to you,

what you have enabled me to learn,

of the endless depths;

of feeling and meaning

and thereby unlearn it myself,

I would.

If I can dismantle my walls,

brick by brutal brick

And find the lost keys

to my battle tested gates,

and share with you not what I wish you were,

but what I’m infinitely grateful

you are,

I will.


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