The static in the air is different
the speed of the looks between us
the old rapid fire of connections and feelers reaching across the table full of rocks
recoil and return to their islands of misplaced hope.

Black and white world
illuminates with you
yet like all I know this light will falter

too.

knowing doesn’t make it easy.

“always” is a lie
the reflection of life I saw before is
as distant now as the roaring snow in Spring
when your eyes were etched into my memory
and masked my broken ego.

definition surrounds
categorizing each aspect of me into little boxes
and in turn I do the same
expecting everything in life to fall into line,
salute Perfection and march along

but where has that gotten me?
A forever thickening, strangling nostalgia and desperate cry
“please don’t change, not yet”

losing my grip on this precipice between The Now, The Imagined, The Past and The Hoped.
Beginning of an end
fear stricken as I strain to see across the bend
maybe I can glimpse What Happens Next.