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.
nice! i really do love your subtlety…is had such strength and power.
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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?