in time, all things fade
some in the sun
some elsewhere,
those elsewhere; fade to nothing more than memory
these fade to a sunbleached and goldtinged happiest
little curls of everyday
cherished
weatherworn and comfortable
standing selfsame and finally found
against the gale, in the surf
(I would bob up and down
below the water, I was gasping
for air that wasn't there
suffocating, strangling
those written pasts
are just that
and for fear of falling completely off
into an abyss in own mind
I wrote
not to remember, not to wish
not to speak truth
but to find the way
to put behind)
I'm working on
these words
scribbled in ones and zeds
they are new, written in short
left handed slashes and jabs
putting to paper the happiness
that I've never
been good enough
to turn to words
been good enough to deserve
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