I could write a story
Of the things I haven’t done,
So many and so interesting,
Or so simple, so wonderfully normal,
That it would be worth reading.
I could write a book
Of things that haven’t happened yet,
And I wonder:
What would you think of me
If you ever saw its pages?
Maybe you would be shocked,
Wondering how my list, so long
Could create such a story
Woven from insanity and normality
And all the things
So many others
Claim to know so well.
For all the things I haven’t done,
If they were water,
Would fill an ocean.
If trees,
They would make forests
Where there now are only fields.
And if they were experiences
Put away in a drawer marked “memories”
Instead of “things I’ve heard of”
I would know as much as you.
But would I want to?