Sunday, March 7, 2010

(written while listening to Jon Foreman's, Somebody's Baby)

It's been just a few years since I started to love you, but if I were honest, I'd tell you the truth.
That I still don't know you any better than I know myself.
And all that I loved about you was perception, with no way of knowing the real from reflection.
In that way, I guess, you're not different from anyone else.

We seem to be moving at two different speeds, and I hate it because you're just out of my reach.
But I swear to God that I am trying to love the real you.
That I understand you is the last thing I'd claim, but that doesn't stop me from trying the same.
When I say that you matter to me, it's the truth.

And I'm trying to love.
I'm trying to love. the. real. you.


  1. No one has commented on this, and when no one else comments on stuff that I like, it is my duty to do it.

    I really do like this, but liking this does not express it aright. More like a nod, or a resolute "Yes." It seems the more I read poetry, or something like it, I think less and less about how "good" it is, and more and more about how true it is. It's goodness improves it's view of truth. I'm not sure which one this is, if any. But I like it.

  2. Yeah, I didn't really think about it as a poem when I read it, I just listened to what you were saying and nodded inside my head. I agree. It's so true. So, I'm not sure what to say beyond that. That's about it... I agree. It raises some questions and some want for discussions, but for now, I can relate, and that makes me love this post.