She asked him at his door
on an early Saturday morning.
His hangover spoke louder than she did.
And entrance into the eternal kingdom
of heaven just wasn’t enticing enough.
“What do I get for joining?” he asked.
“You mean besides salvation?”
She wondered what could be better.
“Yeah, do I get like an Ipod or something?”
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By the beach where it’s warm,
where you can breathe in
the smell of freshly open paint.
Where inspiration comes from a seagull
landing on a seashell.
This cash register does not suit you,
yet no one told you when you were little
that you’d have to work a real job
while your passion for painting
shrank down to just a hobby.
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She waited for him,
a long dreadful year
of pretending to be busy.
As Spring brought warmer days,
the familiar smells
of the air conditioning
reminded her of last year’s hopes.
But when the day finally came,
he seemed different.
He was just as caring
and just as sweet as she remembered
but it wasn’t enough.
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There were days I’d stay up past my bedtime
dreaming of the ways I’d make it.
I didn’t grow up with that California sunshine
unfortunately, we had that incredible cynicism,
a synergy of realism and anger,
waiting to escape.
Where we’d tell each other,
you never know,
but would never expect more.
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