by
Kristan Sifting through the past
I stumble upon your words.
It’s nice to hear your voice again
even if it’s only in my head.
I can’t help myself from wondering
how you’re doing, and what you’re like now.
But every time the question arises
I resign myself to never knowing the answer.
With each passing day
our time together becomes more story than memory.
I always knew this is how it would be
but it’s sad in a way that doesn’t make me cry.
by
Kristan As time passes, it gets easier to remember things about you that bring a smile to my face.
by
Angie The other day I stood up at my desk abruptly and looked around, eyes darting across over my desk. My coworker noticed and asked me what’s wrong. I told her, “I’m looking for something, but then I realized I don’t know what I’m looking for…” and followed promptly with “story of my life.”
by
Angie How much weight does the question hold? How much weight does the answer hold?
by
Kristan I left this as a comment on this post:
It’s amazing how resonant music can be, years after the fact. There are so many songs that I keep around, even though I can’t bear to listen to them, simply because they carry pieces of me (and people I have loved) in their chords.
