Christa’s Musings

I’ve recently cleaned off of my computer, and found a bunch of poetry I wrote a few years ago. It was once a dream of mine to write my own book of poems, and I think I will pick back up on that project again. Here is one of the poems I found, which was written after a trip to Europe.

Whenever we speak of you and I
There comes the whim to drive, sail or fly
To New York, or Florida, or across the sea
Because together is what we’d prefer to be
Different lives, different places
We each have seen a thousand faces
But I rarely see yours
And there you sit, behind closed doors
Writing letters to faces when you’ve discovered their names
Because talking to strangers is one of our favorite games
We send the poems we love, the stories we know
The letters we write, and the dreams we grow
I once traveled the world and found myself quite alone
and I dialed the wrong number on a worn out pay phone
I lost my last bit of hard earned change
which put you too far out of my range
and the world outside the hostel window grew dark
I recalled a card with a foreign postmark-
“You may travel the wide world over, find lots of things to do
But the place I’ll always remember…” is where your face is in view
I sat on a bench in a far away city and I was alone
so I wrote letters to some of the people I’ve known
Some have been good, some have been bad
But regardless, I’m grateful for friendships I’ve had
I have letters scattered all across my floor
I don’t really want to wander aimlessly anymore
And buying plane tickets home becomes such a regret
when leaving the friends I will never ever forget
Their absence is noted as the seasons continue to turn
And a growing cause of my concern
It that we rarely write ‘you’ next to ‘me.’
And as I sit here and write poems quietly
I just wish this one thought would be true
That ‘and’ be the only thing keeping me away from you.