Had I known it was the last time,
I would have taken a closer look
Would have memorized the angle where the cheek bones rise
Would have captured the tilt of your nose in a mental click
I would have reached out and touched the corner of that half smile.

But I didn't know
So I stood at a distance and waved

Now, these months later,
With memory growing weaker and the pain stronger
I wish I had known, that it was the last time I would see you.
That it was the end.

It’s strange how banished memories find their way back into my head,
And curl up in some fold of the brain.
The way memories in hibernation wake up from their furrow,
At the sound of a familiar voice,
Or a fleeting look of recognition on a stranger’s face.
An occasional stir in the sleep, followed by a sting,
Or worse, a total awakening from slumber
Causing mild showers down the cheeks.
It’s strange that these memories are part of my being
And I would rather enjoy the distress of their presence
Than the emptiness of their absence.

I write to exorcise those demons
A desperate attempt to lock their spirits in ink
But in my words, they take form
On my paper, they take root
Those misty emotions with blurry edges,
They freeze on paper
Get their frames and edges
My scribble gives them gleaming eyes
And they flash me a wicked grin.
I write to exorcise them
But in writing, I give them life.