I say I forgot you, moved on
Then why is it that when I'm even in a room
with you
All I see is you
where you are
who with
yea but I forgot you
right ?

maybe each life is just an echo
of the ones that came before,
bouncing off the things they learnt
to land on something more.
maybe it's never ending
and our sound just travels on,
with distance it gets quiet
but is never truly gone.
maybe we will find peace in our silence
when our time comes still,
And know our voice can't go forever
but the truth it carries will

Someone
asked me if I
knew you
             A million
memories flashed
through my mind
but I just smiled and said I used to

I am trying to write a poem
something to explain
what I have failed to recognize or discover
To use that poem as a instruction
A reason
But I write a different poem
With the feelings of a stranger
with closed eyes to myself
No explanation
NO discovery
NO directions
and not one putrid reason
so I ask
who is writing this poem
who is pouring words on the keyboard like water out of a faucet
but not even touching the water
It is the stranger
The person when I am closing my eyes
but still looking
I will shut my eyes and it looks like a black curtain falls
but the act is behind the curtain