Pinpoint

I can't quite pinpoint when

the world shifted beneath my feet,

just slightly. 

Not enough for the Richter scale to gauge it,

so maybe no one else felt it?

But I sure did. 

It was a certain wrinkle that 

got ironed into life,

a wrinkle made permanent

by heat and pressure. 

But it's a wrinkle, 

not a stain,

like red wine on white carpet,

impossible to remove. 

We could fix it,

if we had enough muscle,

enough patience,

enough energy overall,

to push the tectonic plates

back into place.

But maybe they belong here.

In which case,

what's the use?

I guess we get used to it

and hope another quake doesn't hit

before we all adjust. 

"And there's the truth that they can't see
They'd probably like to throw a punch at me
And if you could only see them, then you would agree
Agree that there ain't no romance around there."

A Certain Romance -- Arctic Monkeys