A Quarter Of You

Yesterday, a quarter fell from my pocket.
I didn’t realize it until I needed it.
I thought I heard something hit the ground,
but when I looked, nothing was there.
I guess anything small considers any city big.
the only place it can go to get lost
in its own transcendence.

I should’ve stopped as soon as I heard it,
but who thinks of loose change
until you need it?
Something light enough to lose,
but heavy enough to feel knock.
It hit the ground and rolled somewhere,
chasing a love of its own,
stuck between a crack, stepped on,
but cherished.
maybe it rolled away to save a life,
the last quarter to complete a dollar,
feed someone in need.

By the time I reached for it,
it was gone.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t look for it.
Some goodbyes you don’t hear until it echoes,
the clank of metallic hitting pavement,
ringing and rattling until it stops.
A quarter is a quarter,
it’s not designed to stay still.
Most people I know wouldn’t bother,
but I felt robbed because it was mine,
because it was you,
because it was us.

You always told me, just in case.
Now I realize how much I need you