if I said I was going somewhere, I'd be there now.

And I said, don't get ahead of yourself.

They say love doesn't take much,

you just gotta be there when it comes around.

I've been here from the beginning.

I've been here all along.

You're a strong boy.

When I was gone, you grew tall,

and began to fit your lanky arms,

grow scratch on your chin,

hide your childish freckles from the sun,

deepen your voice to a low thunder rumble,

still –

a boy.

And you fell in love.

Late nights, you and I

atop the roof of your car sit,

like stars, like kings, looking disdainfully

upon this sleepy town.

I, dragging on my cigarette

and you, dragging your feet,

you turn to me and ask me

why I would ever leave.

But before I move my lips you're already blubbering

about the girl, and how she's going away to University

and leaving you behind,

so I put my arm around you and say those mothering things

like boy, loving somebody is no crime

and it will be alright in the end.

And you, still not too strong for tears

whisper

but I don't want an end.

And I, a writer, am rendered speechless

sucking my smoke until I taste ash

praying for some inspiration.

Because the truth is, I was in your shoes,

last year, and despite the love and the promises

things fell apart.

I know too much now to tell you

love will be enough.

I know too much to say eventually it will stop hurting,

that sometimes some wounds will not scab and scar

in time.

Because the truth is, I've gone gotten old,

and you're just a boy, looking to do what you're told,

so I take my ashtray mouth and press it to your ear

and tell you hope still exists.

Because if I said I was going somewhere, I'd be there now.

And I said, don't get ahead of yourself.

They say love doesn't take much,

you just gotta be there when it comes around.

I've been here from the beginning.

I've been here all along.

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