I often imagine myself

Over there with the rest of you.

It's not like I have any plans

For what exactly we would do.

Maybe something as grandiose as

Sitting atop the technicolor cliffs of Dover.

Or something as humble as just existing

In eachother's presence, quietly lavishing

In jolly cooperation.

 

I’m aware that, by all accounts,

I’m not even the third, fourth,

or even eighth wheel of your

Relationship. I didn’t know at the start.

You pointed out the signs afterward,

And in retrospect, it makes sense.

I admit that I am remarkably dense when

It comes to navigating you. But it's not like I mind.

 

That was never my intention when

I first met you. Nor the third, fourth,

Or even eighth time afterward.

It's always been important to keep a barrier

Between the formal and the intimate.

I’d like to think we can strike a happy medium.

Maybe that's why you all kept me around.

Maybe not, but it's not like I can’t bear the thought.

 

There's a joy in being needed, regardless of the circumstance.

If I’m a merchant dealing in friendship and

Stability, then I think there are worse fates.

Each person thinks they are the only one

Which comes to me in the dead of night.

I won’t tell them otherwise.

Each comes to me with gripes about their partners.

I won’t tell the others.

 

I think that they must know the role I play among them.

But I admit that you are remarkably dense

When it comes to each other.

My words are not unique. They never have been.

But there’s a tool for every occasion,

And some work for a variety of tasks.

Some coping styles are better left unexamined.

But who’s to say. I’m not exactly licensed.