I regret I didn’t take more pictures of you; 
cause you know how forgetful I am.
yes, I can remember your shell
but I can’t remember all that you had,
or the times we would lay on the grass,
in beds,
drugged and drunk in couches
where colorful people came and went,
lost in ideologies that mostly made no sense
in trains, busses
you — sleeping on my leg
I sleeping on yours
the wet grass, the pointlessness of talking,
the patterns that followed
everywhere we looked, 
everywhere we went.
all doors and windows open wide
where God was free to come from any of them, 
befriend us, 
but we would get bored, 
we would run after a while,
it would lose us again.

now it takes so much of all I am–
and I usually fail, get lost,
remembering everything you gave,
everything we had.

I regret I didn’t photograph all of that.
the tiny, 
fake world we built for ourselves
that it didn’t last.
small enough to last me for a whole lifetime, 
enough for this, 
enough for this,
enough to last me until the end.


One thought on “feint

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