I have yet to finish searching
For ways to preserve my being.
I’m afraid to lose my thoughts,
my words, my ideas, my emotions -
My life.
I desperately attempt to revive what is gone
While I seek things I know I won’t find.
My thoughts wander through time
As I sit here and reminisce about
Being lost in an in-between place
Neither the past, present or future
But a combination of all three.

The sun had set to the west and
left behind warm strokes of red.
I admired the finished work of art
And noticed how my childhood was
Painted with the same fleeting colors,
Until all that remained was
A blurry memory.

My hands itch to dust off
The neglected typewriter sitting
On my grandma's shelf and
Remind it of the life it once had
In a forgotten age where
Fingers danced methodically
On carefully partitioned stages
And moved to the rhythm of keys.