Sun-filled Days.

Treading the line,
tempting fate again.
Unplanned, untempered, untamed,
recklessly abandoning any sense of propriety.
Not as if I had any in the first place, but that is another story.
Are we simply lost in familiarity,
the ease of conversation,
the breathy delight of laughter from aching lungs.
Enough backstory to fill a book,
yet no clear plot lines leading to anywhere I've ever been.
Running a race against ourselves,
yet all avoidance is futile,
slipping back into a routine of sun-filled days,
filled with burning words and sidelined glances.
Late nights and even later fights,
it seems to be a fool's game we're playing.
Sweet felicity in our rejoin,
turns bitter in my mouth
knowing that everything has changed.
Returning to those days seems impossible
but then again,
the way you just looked at me disagrees.