This life survives on Grace. All those little good things we have done evens out all the misdeeds we keep rolling out. Strong words that burnt, promises not kept, dates not honored, calls not made, birthday's forgotten, relationships lying in deep freeze and lousy Facebook updates, all these have used up all my grace.
Smiles that are remembered, laughter that is shared, money that uplifts, and time well spent...I am running on empty, I need to get good things going on again.
If you were to cross the road and hurt your toe, I know that I will never know. As we go on to take different roads and move on across different shores, there is something that happens to our relationships. Something that estranges, disconnects, disintegrates. I know that you still think of me. I know this because I find myself thinking about you. And thoughts rarely get seeded on their own. It comes from you to I and from I to you until one of us is alive. Old relationships rarely die. Like broken winged moths, they hang around dark alleys of forgotten memory lanes. Ever so often, I can hear one of them flutter its wings. Not too close but never too far.
If I could do a Neruda, You would have smelt of summer roses And Autumn pine. There would have been sheer love Of the kind that causes our hearts to ache And loneliness bordering the divine. You would have had so many secrets Welling up as in a girly giggle And so few friends who would hear them all. I am no Neruda I can't paint you a Summer breeze Amidst this long winter chill.