Topar: a poem

Staff Writer
Five months too early and three years too late,
You came into the room and into the picture,
Where we were side by side but looking away,
At the crossroads of “What’s your name” and “See you later.”
Whenever we talk face to face,
Every fleeting minute goes by like an hour,
But time is barely catching up to the race,
Still each week anticipates another encounter.
You were driving alone learning again how to trust,
Now, you say it’s a good thing I came,
Because with five hours and thirty miles ahead of us,
We could fast forward in the carpool lane.
Through the fog, or is it the steam?
We see each other for what we truly are,
Even when we meet in a sweet dream,
Even when we meet in the night’s dark.
Now all there is left to blame is time,
And perhaps our star-crossed fate,
But if you tell me “Be mine,”
I won’t say you’re five months too early and three years too late.