The Pretty, Petty Things

When your eyes pie up at the suggestion
or your heart flutters of the very mention
that someday we, perhaps, may be together again,
I will listen. I will listen,
as the earth turns to snow
and everything we know will be forgotten.
This is all so very uncertain,
and no one will believe us now.
Yes,
         no one will believe us now.

All these pretty, petty things
like divorce and distance and change
mean all of but little to me
in my daydreams of responsibility.
I'll listen. I swear to God I'll listen.
This is our credibility on the line,
and since we never know when for sure,
no one will believe us now.
Yes,
         no one will believe us now.

In the strength of the imagination
or lack of pause in determination
we may never understand how,
but no one will believe us now.
Yes,
         no one will believe us now.

We owe it all to circumstance.
We blame the game of incompetence.
We make our choices,
         spoiled or not,
and send them out to war.
We talk of what could've been
and I listen. I listen
to words that speak to me
more powerfully than the past could bring
but no one,
no, no one,
no one will believe us now.
Yes, no one will believe us now.