Without

Standard

“Where does the time go?”

You’ve always known.

Your back was just towards it.

Admiring the liminal space,

between point A and point B –

I restate the obvious:

all the things I’ve scattered to the wind,

have blown away.

Tears stream down my face,

at the sight of all this spilled milk.

Irretrievable–

fading, flickering memories melt

as the days go by,

at best,

that’s all we’ve got.

So many times, I’ve gotten exactly what I wanted

and it was the worst thing that could have happened.

So many times have I parted ways with something I swore I couldn’t live without,

somehow I got by just fine.

The past is gone, and the present is a terrible time

to waste backtracking.


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