I have this memory of a time in a girls bed. I was getting ready to leave her home.
I had this bittersweet feeling. A longing. A happiness.
I think about that often. A memory. To bring such joy. Such a good feeling. It has changed over time.
The memory that is. I hope it will stay a certain way forever. But memories change. I think anyway. Over time we remember things differently
But I like that memory
H
What. Or who..
What more could be said.
There are so many unspoken things. Infinite voids of dead words and memories. Never known. Never seen
Figures turned.
Don’t go. He though.
He didn’t say anything. Pain swelled inside like a balloon about to pop. Pain. Always pain.
Nothing is ever really wasted
Nothing is ever easily taken or given. There’s always a part of soul
Body. Mind. That goes along with each and every thing given out.
Little pieces of us. That we hope are cherished.
We never really know. Only hope. Only hope.
I don’t claim to know what happens after we die. But I certainly hope it’s good.
I could never forgive myself if I never forgave you or even myself.
And didn’t get the chance to see you in another life. What a wear on me. What a waste.
What a waste
Poet Knows It 