I’ve been staring at old photos of myself
denying narcissism and self-obsession,
convinced there’s something behind that fixation
this nostalgia isn’t going anywhere,
so I suppose things aren’t getting better…
I’ve been staring at old photos for years.
it’s May and it’s still raining
how did February 23rd feel more hopeful than this?
dare I take back the hope I professed
when I asked if You made it through winter?
this is more than days melting into each other
it’s remembering that there’s no such thing as a day
and you’re the only thing that gives life meaning
you have to infuse life with it,
like a damned robinsons mini summer fruit
and you have to watch colour float around mundane life,
so slowly that you begin to wonder if it will ever change completely
I remember that troubles don’t last
but some battles seem so bleak.
I know that time has no choice in its passing
but why does it move so slow?
I have spent just as much time looking forward to-,
as I have looking back
you can guess which feels more tangible than the other