Written upside- down in a journal on a drunken Saturday evening in less than five minutes.
a feather in the wind?
no… no. that doesn’t give you enough importance.
how about a…
or rather, the landscape in my rearview mirror..?
you, at a stand- still in the past,
slowly dissolving in the distance?
no. that is not right either,
since i still can’t bear moving away from you,
that can’t be right.
but this is where we have a problem.
because my memory of you is fading-
tucked in the sweet, simple embrace of summer.
you held me once, is that not true?
and i, you?
i cannot fathom.
now you are just some concept
that everyone else but myself can grasp
because you all can go to parties together
while i drink alone
about how you are a thing i have known
from your skin
to your soul.
but that was then
and this is now
and now is the past which is