after buttoning up my dreams and
zipping them into the blue leather
Marc by Marc Jacobs bag
to keep them safe from the snow,
I washed my hands of the dawn
and traveled to the spot where
someone once said,
"Best wishes in the New Year,"
and handed me five different
Crayola crayons, each the same
color - Bittersweet -
picked from dozens of boxes
and sharpened to five points
only to be given joyfully to a stranger,
not unlike the seashells I once received.
"happiness can be found
in the parentheses,"
someone scribbled on a page
ripped violently from
a spiral bound wide ruled notebook --
I've never been to the parentheses,
though I have glimpsed the open-ended
possibility of snuggling in between
two thoughts as a gleeful aside.
"Normally I don't, but I will be back,"
she recited into her phone
resignedly, walking with heavy steps
through the layers atop the concrete,
"No, I've never been."
"I love you"
could have been his final words,
but absurdities have crept in.
I unzip my bag
and unbutton my thoughts
to let the promises of untouched dreams
wash over me,
until tomorrow.
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