words never heard lightly,
were those of, “supposed to,”
a form of communication designated for the past.
and only the past.
our 'supposed to’s’
were meant for all those days, behind us.
like any other day, any other moon, any tide, every storm
and every desert simmer.
our past doesn’t make us,
yet, helped shape us.
it’s form holds a contentment unlike any other,
a sense of peace as we look back,
and see what we have become,
because of them, because of it,
because we were, ‘supposed to'
our lovers and strangers become, an imprint.
their smell and taste, a blanket of calm.
their chapter, and us,
our family, travels, professions,
embossed a demeanor,
designated for only our character,
an individual, artistic message,
only meant for our individual consciousness,
in becoming our being,
all our 'supposed to’s' resulted in this,
resulted in us
this, our persona,
an immeasurable thumbprint.
we are, our 'supposed to’s.’
our birth and past is responsible,
our years of fire, passion, knowledge and movement,
our human cells,
this substance of our soul,
cultivated from years of infinite gravitational weight,
such time and gravity, ultimately on our side.
(whether we like it or not)
with grace, these phases, chapters,
pages and stages,
unfolding… right before us, within us, around us.
all the world has been watching.
because of then, we are ‘now.'
our 'supposed to’s' already succeeded.
each live on, within,
our skin, our hearts, our faces,
now, forever changed.
we keep going, knowing there is no resolution,
only restless beginnings.