Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I turned left.
What would happen if I left the plans I’d made and playing a trick on the hand of fate?
What if I was late for all my appointments,
because I was halfway to the old house I used to dream about,
the one we talked about,
back when we used to pretend that a facsimile of affection was enough to replace the love neither of us was capable of?
What if I got on a train?
Just spent my day daydreaming about the adventures I could have had,
and then arrived at that large white door, with the peeling paint and faded gold numbers?
What if I knocked, three times,
and you, and your sweet smile, that had seen so much, but decided to survive were waiting for me?
Would you be the one I’ve waited for?
Would we rule our own little world together?
Would you be the one I settled for?
Would I make you dinner every night and sew up the holes in your shirts and your soul?
Would I fall asleep after partying alone with pills and cheap cider to dream of the day I turned right instead?
Would I ever stop second guessing every moment and both of our motives?
Which way should I go?
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