a bit of silliness, really

I'd once again like to hear your thoughts on art and God.
I'd once again like to sit in a car with you and lean on your arm.
I'd once again like to laugh with you at how ridiculous I can be.
I'd once again like to walk down an unfamiliar road holding your hand.
I'd once again like to dream big dreams with you.
I'd once again like to fight about karaoke.
I'd once again like to travel to the beach with you.

I'd once again like to hear and sit and laugh and walk and dream and fight and travel and be. With you. Again.

But plans shift, people grow, and times, as Bob would say, "are a-changin'."

Did I love too much? Or not enough? Was I too immature? Too pushy? Too anything but perfect for you?

Such questions don't matter now. But I wonder every day. I miss every day. I move on every day.
And some days I just cry.

But tonight I simply quote Chitty- "From the ashes of disaster grow the roses of success."

I'm trying to get planted, but memories dig up and toss soil.
I'm trying to cycle forward, but my imagination stops my peddling feet like two heavy bricks.

Healing. Healing is in order.
How?
False hope?
Comfortable dysfunction?
Or real?
Or right?