As we walked down different roads,
hopefully towards a common end
I picked up a stone from the path.
Just a common rock, flecked
with sparkles, flashes of beauty
in the everyday downtrodden earth.
I carried it with me for miles, turning it in my hand
as you turned in my mind
and my heart returned to you.
Thoughts of passion flushing,
your anger flashing,
our friendship crashing
as we cycled again and again:
hot and cold, Spring and Fall
of the heart and hope,
wandering in my thoughts and memories.
The rock lightly held in my hand as I couldn’t hold you.
Rough, pointy. Flawed.
Comfortably aware of the lack of perfection
and uniqueness, I knew:
we can temporarily warm the grey stone
as we hold it in our hand but
it will grow cold
without being held.