If we might imagine a persona

well beyond ourselves, yet familiar

in memory, in a time capsule,

could we ever go back and visit

again,  just to know, to answer

a couple of questions,

I’ve carried around with me all my life.

 

Like for instance the man asked,

what is the reality of time,

how do we determine existence,

based on reminders forced upon

ourselves when we say hello

even when knowing that’s not possible,

still we continue to breathe.

 

How many years have I held on,

wanting that piece of my life back.

I was always the cautious one,

the kind little boy who smiled and cried.

I only boasted about you,

because that’s what love is, heartfelt.

Yet knowing you let go slams me out of the blue.

 

… and all those failed years without you