Its me

Its me
the cold
and all I walked you into.

Its me
and all the hope
failed.

Its me
and all the dead flowers,
still seeds despite the wear.

And all the dreams
we could have had be something more
if only we had them ten years less than now.

Its me and all the wind
blowing up and down its own storm
taking water from here to there.

Us just small sticks,
victims of chance,
even if only in half of an unfinished truth.

Its me
the cold
and all I walked you into
and not out of.

Its me
the unsahaven
and rough
crap.

Its me
on a Sunday
two days into a weekend
pissed its over.

Its me
and even if you still take me now
I fail to believe it fully.

Still one eye out the window
for the bus I missed taking you on
to somewhere prouder than what i give you today.

Its me
the cold
and all I walked into.

Wondering
what this is
if not love
in its ungreatful
but constant way.

Finding its
home
even here, or despite
the reasons not to
because the heart
only knew one state of being
that remained through all the ups and downs.