There was a pattern,
always a pattern
In the books read, recent playlists played,
Colors of weather and unwritten letters,
Badly scribbled notes under the mattress of the bed.
There was a pattern in the first said words of that broken conversation—if only you knew
Those tucked away pictures hidden from the world,
And tickets that were never used to fly 7000 miles away.
There was a shameless pattern in all the words unsaid, all the endeavors to make you break away
In the first days when seasons changed—the leaves falling off or turning green,
There were patterns in the first fall of snow and my perfect summer dream,
There were patterns in the waves of the ocean that connected lands in between.
There were perfect patterns in the winds that blew; signs if only you knew.
But oh well, never mind
Why did it matter?
When our minds were always a mess, a hopeless clatter.