bourgeoisie

Okay, now I'm worried
About you and me
and new pine trees
Okay, now I'm thinking
About fabled true love
And lack thereof
Okay, now I'm learning
About moving on
And ill-kept lawns
Okay, now I'm deducing
About moving home
And whispering domes
Okay, now I'm crying
About things I've lost
At too high a cost

My heart; lose its laugh
My voice; lose its song
My mind; lose its wit
My tongue; lose its taste
My sense; scrape along
My soul; now debased

I need to see you again... why can't anyone seem to understand that? It's not a want; a desire to see the pretty horsie. I've trusted in you more than almost anyone on Earth - probably more than any human. I just react with some animals that way, and you, especially. Your soul is like spun silver. It purifies those tainted by all those days when we feels we're "scraping along," bourgeoisie-style.
I'm a retarded poet. Deal with it.

And, stupid though it may be, I keep thinking about what the filly might be thinking. Does she think I abandoned her? Has she forgotten? Or is she thinking I'll be back soon enough, right on schedule? What about her new home? Does she know it? Is she scared, or is everything okay, since she has her friend...? The disaster scenario running through my head came to be thanks to the following lyrics (You Found Me, Fray):

Lost and insecure, you found me, you found me
Lying on the floor, surrounded, surrounded
Why'd you have to wait? Where were you? Where were you?
Just a little late, you found me, you found me.
But in the end everyone ends up alone
Losing her, the only one who's ever known
Who I am, who I'm not and who I wanna to be
No way to know how long she will be next to me
Lost and insecure, you found me, you found me
Lying on the floor, surrounded, surrounded
Why'd you have to wait? Where were you? Where were you?
Just a little late, you found me, you found me.