Nov 8, 2016
Time
It is the arm outstretched
towards the train, watching
faces blur like smeared paint
as you let them slip away.
It is the letters you never dared send
decorated with declarations, lines and
lines meant to mend, stained
with all the words you still
can’t find the strength to say.
It is the fleeting moment
between slumber and stir
when you reach for their warmth
and remember they are no longer there.
It is the phone call that took you all
month to make, and then, the beep
of the machine that sings defeat
because courage doesn’t matter much
in the name of love
if you are too late.
Author
Photographer
Modeling Page
