Get to You

I had a dream about you the other night.
In it, we found each other again.
At first, I was hesitant, I was uncertain.
I was holding my breath.
But then it was as it was.
When we made each other happy.
We both felt it. We both wanted it.

All I had to do was get to you.

I knew where you were going to be.
You wanted me to meet you.
In a house not too far away but too far to get to easily.
I’d seen it before, empty, before you could get there.
Still, it was warm inside. It was beautiful. It was safe.
It was ready for us.
It was home.

All I had to do was get to you.

There was a map. And a bus number. 75.
I thought I knew this town.
But I had no idea where the closest bus stop was.
So I ran. In a frenzy. Up and through the streets upon streets.
The pavement below my feet. Pounding.
Wet and puddled, of course.
At night. With no one around. With no one to help. Of course.
Every sign I looked at didn’t have the right number.
Everything was whizzing by, getting more blurry.
I couldn’t go fast enough. I couldn’t go slow enough.
I was getting farther and farther away.
Losing time. Losing my way. Losing you.

All I want to do is get to you.

— Ballyhoo Backcaster