Write Now and Later

We are strangers connected by the comfort of familiarity.  It’s peculiar how the inadvertent takes us to a complete circle.  That feeling of connection; that longing for a love we are not supposed to have.

Her face is nothing more than the image of the desired reflection; those eyes speaking the truth behind her smile.  Light and shadows confound the lines of time; I want to see her but reality denies my wish.  All we will ever have are our conversations and the chisel of poetry to sculpt our imaginations.