Living in the Past
And now it seems that I’m merely surviving for the brief moments we can finally meet again, reliving particles of memories that have, gradually but rather surely, faded against the unyielding flow of life.
“There will be time for ice cold beer in summer heat,” my mind insists on saying, reassuringly
“and sweet clove cigarettes against our chapped lips,
and words, an abundance of words, uttered by similar minds that differ only in mere facade.”
like a broken record, singing songs long forgotten
like a good parent, uttering promises that are not theirs to keep
like a religion, repeating silent prayers of metaphysical impossibility