Knowing

It’s always at around 2am 

when you’d go outside for a smoke,

and stare up into the night sky

to ask your questions of what is reality,

and why we matter. 

And it’s at these moments I wish 

I had paid better attention in physics class, 

because I never really know the theories, 

or the mechanics you use

to map out constellations in the space above us;

to me it’s nothing more than cigarette smoke

floating and fading into the darkness. 

But today, I understand,

because I know the gravity of having to wait 

ten thousand feet in the air. Because I know 

how pointless it is

to plea, or race against time, who’s indifferent to love 

or pain. Because I know 

the physicality of a plane landing,

where the sensations of heavy metal touching down 

always hits the tarmac before your heart is ready.

Because I also know

that heat does not wait for us to escape a body,

whether you are flying across an ocean

or just a train ride away.

I never knew the grief of knowing

that life is too impatient for a loving son

rushing to get home,

and I wish I were still 

just lost in the beautiful universe you’ve spun

ignorantly sitting next to you.