Nov 12, 2012 23:59
Time passes,
and people change.
And yet, there are still moments
when, spurred by some passing glimmer of an idea,
he remembers what their time was like - together.
A movie, perhaps, he would've liked to share-
Or a book that he knows she would've loved.
Or sharper still, a new idea for a piece,
its ending yet undetermined.
They are more rare now, as it should be,
as years pass, but still they linger,
and lurk, in the shadows. Waiting,
until he puts pen to paper,
or his hands on the keys.
And then they spring,
merciless as always.
love and loss,
nonfiction,
poetry