the poet sits and ponders
writing down his thoughts
of the photographer that he once knew
he still knows now of course
if time was his to write
he could take out all the words
he wished he'd never said
the poet writes what it is she sees
the photographer sees what he writes
thoughts of what have and what could have been
reappear every night
then pour onto the blank page
so the words become the pictures
he wished he'd never seen
the photographer takes his picture
if only in her mind
she remembers him as things once were
he thinks the photograph is lying
and the poet sits and ponders
staring at the poem
he wished he'd never started
the photographer lies awake
believes that she's the one to blame
but if she could take just one more picture
he knows it'd be the same
the only thing that could change is now
for the past is the only place
he wished he'd never been
the poet picks up his pen once more
sits and searches for the time
when she could take a picture of
a thousand words in rhyme
a thousand words that came out wrong
could never be rewritten
by the poet who lost his nerve
the photographer bares her emotions
the poet struggles with his words
the photographer takes the picture
of the girl the poet hurt
and asks if we hurt the ones we love
or must we try before we know
to understand our emotions
the poet sits and ponders
writing down his thoughts
of the photographer that he once knew
he still knows now of course
if time was his to write
he could take out all the words
he wished he'd never said
the photographer will read his poem
of that much he is sure
what she'll read between the lines
can never be that clear
like the relationship they have
like the blur in the background
of the hazy photograph
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