All the Beautiful Things

All the Beautiful Things

It was outside that I suddenly realized,
While imagining my father walking up
And sharing a cigarette with me underneath the scaffolding,

That no one can explain what we are not
And I cannot remember what his love felt like-
Maybe there was never a time like that.

Dreaming, in this pale room
That when I walked in reminded me of when I was looking up
At the ceiling of St. Peters’ where God was the farthest idea from my mind,
is the closest I will ever be to him again.

My youth ended when you left me
Bleeding and crying on a bathroom floor
And I looked down and back at all I’d done
Wondering if you would have stayed if I was beautiful.

The only thing that keeps me off the dirty floor
And the thing that keeps the scars healing
Is a hope that if I become old, I will understand
And then, finally want to stop dreaming of you.

And my father, like every girls’
Is older but he is no wiser
Because if age brought explanations
Then I think we all might live forever.

But when I saw my father cry about his love,
Who was beautiful and whom he lost years ago,
It makes me think age will only steal from me
All the beautiful things that make me alive.

If this feeling of lost love lasts longer that I do
Then I think I should return without regrets and tears
To find the fountain of youth that’s hidden in the bathroom
By stealing from age all the beautiful things that it wants most.