Change the Time and Place

Change the Time and Place We're running, running forever, cross the beach, cross the misty field. Where are we? We don't care. The damn daisy ring? The damn daisy ring. You kneel in the gravel, then take my hand. This isn't traditional. You change the time and place. You shield the glittering lights of New York City. We're standing on the crowded staircase in Times Square. We're standing on the crowded staircase, everyone stares, the 'yes' and the kiss must come next. I liked the beach better. At least the ring lasted longer. The diamonds circle each other and gleam on my ring finger. I feel trapped as the crowd cheers. I've never liked feeling trapped before. I change the scene and the location. We're in a wooden house up in Maine, flushed from the sea- a red striped lighthouse, all that remains are digital photographs. Not the caw of a seagull, the click of a camcorder, nor the smell of fresh sea waves crashing to shore. All that remains is a cracked phone and a swirling mind and cocaine wrappers and traces of a ring on a bedside table, the ghost of love. All that remains is a slammed door, a bottle of pills in a bathroom, drafts of stories and a half finished podcast. All that remains is the memories of the family I had when you were the one. I change the time and I change the place. Alone.