Time

A Poem by lostinthewaves

How long is a laugh?
The kind that fills the emptiness you didn't even know you had,
sealing the crevices of your soul with words that never existed,
A song sung by the best parts of your spirit, the pieces left for only the most worthy of companions.

The radio doesn't stay on forever.
The song that you once danced to with your first boyfriend comes on in a grocery store on a Saturday morning,
so you stop next to the frozen vegetables and remember the way his hands were shaking,
and the gold speckles in his chestnut eyes.

But there are more pressing things to do on a Saturday morning,
so you leave his memory next to the broccoli and close the door.

They say when one door closes, another opens,
but at twenty when it feels like all the doors have slammed in your face,
you reminisce about days when doors did not confine you,
where dreams and imagination took you farther than your parents could drive.

You're the driver now,
but the years go quickly,
more journey in the rear view, the map almost empty.

The clock may tell time,
but time doesn't listen,
and you are left to give the translations.

What I mean is this,
you give time its permission.

How long is a laugh?