The road I walk is not steady at all.
There are rocks in it
and I stumble when I'm not looking.
No one stumbles more often than I,
but it doesn't matter if you fall when you're alone
with no one to notice that you did
or feel what you did.
That's the comfort of it all--
when you are truly alone
there's no one to whom you must explain it.
So there's no one to question the reasons why I
am on the road looking
(for what am I looking)
or to hear my answer if I did.
No one has more answers than I
although the questions haven't held up at all
and the road doubles back and replays and replays it
as if it were the road alone
with the power to keep me alone,
stumbling and looking
for some way to end it,
as if it were the road who questioned the things I did
and not you at all.
No one questions more than I
never expected you to go on alone
leaving me to make sense of it all.
I never expected, when I wasn't looking,
you would ever turn away like you did.
You were the forever to help me through it.
That was our pact, and you knew as you broke it
no one would be more righteous than I.
But righteousness is only pain when you're alone,
and sometimes I wonder what it was that I did
(why did I have to stumble when you were looking)
and the road doubles back over it all.
I'll never keep it as straight as you did,
but then there's only me and I'm not looking.
That's the comfort of it all, now that I'm alone.