In a year, think of me

Sitting here at the edge of my floral covered bed,
I look out my window to see the moon shining it's bright light,
peaking over the fence, allowing me to see beyond where I could before.
Its size seemed a lot smaller days ago,
but now the vastness of it makes me shiver.
To my right, the dust that has collected on the book
sitting on my cornered night stand, reminds me
of just how long it's been since there was movement.
I used to dance in the rays of the sun
or in the less bright times of the night.
Never once did I stop to capture a moment
and hold it tightly in my mind, as if it were going to escape somehow.
I read the book without knowing it would sit alone
for months to come.
And now I wonder who will be lying next to me ten years,
twenty years down the line.
It seems that the forces have their own plans for me,
separated from anything I would choose.

I remember one time we sat with the door open,
drinking cheap beer and making fools of ourselves on purpose.
We tried our best to be polite,
but sometimes we just couldn't.
We couldn't help ourselves from throwing each other off
building tops, only to crawl back to pick up the pieces.
I glued you, one time, to me,
and that was all I ever needed to be.

I remember last night when I got drunk and became friends with everyone
in sight. I had an endless rope of others to take home
that would have treated me right. But I woke up this morning,
in my floral patterned bed, to the  sun and nothing else.
I've been told many times that whiskey is the devil's drink
and that drinking it would make him surface within me.
I think I can be honest enough with myself to know that I am nobody.
But crawling back into bed to hear you breathing makes me feel something like alive.
I'm not sure if living is what another would call this,
but it'll do for now. 
In a year, think of me, and remember what you felt
when you laid your head next to mine.