I visit him,
daily.
We are young,
17 is just a number, when
options are endless,
surprising situations,
answers to questions never far behind.

I visit him,
often.
Arguments arrange reasons to,
"Leave it at that".

Continuation of hope,
holding onto,
hope and holding on, too.

I visit him,
sometimes.
Time teaches some things,
not all things.

Aging is a continuation,
forever young,
he will be to you and me.

Misunderstanding,
Miss Understanding,
lies to get you there.

Forest walls captivate a longing,
to leave.
The leaving letters,
are no where in sight.

Clean your room.
Change your clothes.
Money talks,
And 300 says a lot to a man,
somewhere, in some city,
maybe nearby.

Newspaper print,
words with improper wording,
leak your legacy,
to our fingertips.

I visit him,
daily.
For a while.

He is young.
Always to stay in a memory.
Gone is a declaration,
to declare a reason to forget.
Death is a substitute,
to subtract our feelings instead.

Searching for reasons,
you're a detective in this,
mystery of a true life story.

I visit him,
rarely.
His appearance has changed.

She said,
"Grief is like the ocean".
I'd rather be there instead.
Keep searching for a reason,
why did he choose this season?

Falling down in fall,
favorite memories linked to,
downfall.

Brown dirt as brown as,
your once golden brown eyes.
Gold is hidden from this treasury.

I visit him,
seldom.
Moving on is growing up too,
selfish it seems,
to continue without you.

"The memories are trapped inside me like a punishment".
Conversations. Conversions. Concepts. Continue.
Complex.
Time and space,
cannot get me back to you.