theres a lot to be said for waking up,

stretching out loose-limbed somewhere,

anywhere.
curling sheets or seats underneath your fingers,
pinching your way into the darkness of the day,
leaving behind us the splinters of interrupted dreams.
leaving behind the other world that doesnt really mean anything.
and apparently some people dont dream in color.
and other people dream in silence.
what must that be like?
well i dont know about you, because i never ask.
sometimes you wake up in a bed that has weight,
that has substance.
that has something.
a bed that has heft.
we can remember the lovers and the events of the past,
but can we remember where we awoke?
was it palaces or prisons?
maybe its just like whatever qualifies as being like a palace for the likes of you
and i.
it could be the spine-twisted nightmare of a cramped train seat
on a journey that we didnt really want to take.
it could be after drinking, fighting, or loving,
but for all the travelling we undertook, we only learned one thing,
but one thing is one thing.
one thing is one thing.
and you know it when you know it.
and you know it when you can truthfully feel in your heart for the romantics and
your boots for the brave.
you know it if you can say:
all i ever wanted,
all i ever really wanted was to wake up with you one time.
just one time.

you know it when one time was all you craved,

and then it happens.
and its not enough
thats what its like in palaces in prisons.
thats what its like in palaces in prisons.
and thats what its like for you and i.
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