My memory is kinder to me

Than I allow my senses to be…

‘Cause if it feels good, it must be bad.

It’s what glorifies the remembered kiss

And numbs the reality of the moment;

What was is now…

What’s now is lost.

Similes slide into metaphors

As like becomes what is;

Living life second-hand

Inside a virtual postcard

Where imagined senses take over

For what’s rarely experienced,

Not sure which is worse:

Death in the midst of living

Or living as if already dead.

Looking into eyes that are inches away

Yet seeing them across a chasm…

Touching without ever arriving close enough to feel;

The world’s a big place when inches are miles…