Blurred

blur

Cribbed some words

from an old diary circa 1977

the olden days before my digital wisdom.

Shy drunken words about love and

hope and such. The pages blurred pencil

and hard black ink committed to stuff only he

would know. And then he stopped midway

through the page. Age, and the words are

still blurred, but the voice

still carries. If he knew something,

it is still obscure.

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2 thoughts on “Blurred

  1. I sometimes think about who I was then and who I am now. Would I recognize him? I’m more cynical and wary, and man, I’d tell him to be careful and not to take things to heart too deeply, but I think we’d know each other. And that’s a good thing, right?

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