The Present 3/3

I live for the moment
Of a hungover Sunday morning
Waking up with my friends
In the tiny, low-ceiling flat
Falling apart around us
Or sleepily crawling under a blanket
Next to each other in bed.
Laughing about our mistakes
Our youthful antics and pains,
Reciting Chekhov lines
Singing along to records
Surrounded by smoky haze
These days could not be more perfect.
I live for the hardships and nerves,
Pushes and plans and small victories
Everything is happening
In its perfect, perfect way
And will never again
Beyond this moment
Ever be the same.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s