Monday, 25 June 2012
What is his without him
What is his glass without him drinking it
Or his words without him speaking it.
What is his picture without me touching him
Or his memories without me living it.
I must learn the hateful art of forgetfulness
Live the life of an un-present being.
I must in tears unwind a love knitted in many years.
Idea taken from a poem I once read, re-written.
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