There is a moment
Where you have the opportunity to listen or to speak
And sometimes that moment is life or death
And usually we don’t realize it until it’s too late.
A moment where we could listen to what our lover isn’t saying,
Hear in their voice that they are falling out of love,
And this is the last possible second that your fingers still touch,
You can either curl your fingers in theirs,
Pull them back to the safety of your boat,
Or do nothing and let them drift away.
A moment where we could hear the circles our friends carve around us,
Their fins making waves and rocking boats,
We could hear the laughter and how it’s at us, not with us,
We could notice that we are becoming decorations,
The necklaces and earrings they put on before heading to the party,
The entertainment when life gets boring.
A moment to hear the sadness hidden behind the humor,
The words slipping out of mouths to form nooses,
Tying knots in the shape of broken promises and meaningless regrets,
The hours spent locked in a mind with no key
And no one willing to open a window and let some fresh air in,
Some perspective, some appreciation, some company,
Some saving grace.
The need to talk, to tell our story,
Has a habit of outweighing the story too deep to tell.
If you have the option to speak or to listen,
Chances are anything you could say has been said before.