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…
