#56
Dear Past,
I find myself terrified of losing you;
every moment pulls us further away as I cling
to loose memories that slip down mountainsides.
My eyes trail to the cliff just below.
And whenever you turn your back on me
and the night becomes a motionless hum
in my ears as clocks slam every second,
there is a small whisper that maybe
maybe you'd turn around again and smile.
I am terrified of letting go;
who would want to be alone facing the fog
of a great ocean bay, limitless and uncaring?
Who could look into the void between the stars
and not tremble at the coldness of everything
that will never be?
My legs are dead now.
Each step becomes longer, further, darker, angrier,
more fierce and uptight while night holds his breath
until I collapse and cannot take another step.
I don't want to lose sight of you.
But each second drags you closer to the horizon.