Across our fate and shrouded in the mist
Lies every choice unmade and wish unsaid;
We should have argued, or we should have kissed,
We could have stayed, or maybe could have fled —

But you could not escape, no more could I,
The finely woven fibers of the past,
And though we dare to run or dream to fly,
We find we haven’t gone that far, at last.

But where are all the things we didn’t do?
Not on display in cinema, or store,
But someplace down inside me, and in you,
Are all the things that could have signaled, “more” —

    But I am in this chair, and you, that bed,
    And can truth ever live that’s never said