You’ll rarely find my face in a photograph
They feel so frivolous
When the moments we hold dear
Are clouded visions we can’t take with us.
Snapshots, limited by context
We must then interpret.
The bias of perspective leaves
Parallel plots divergent
The days of our disquiet youth
Can never be ours again
I’m left with only these torn prints
Of when I thought the world made sense
I’ve spent my time turning
Over vignettes of yesteryears
Because I’ve forgotten
What I’m doing here
It’s so senseless to live in the past
When the future can promise so much
But I loiter precious time away
And sacrifice the present as such
I’ve told myself not to worry
It’s for another time
But here and now
Is the later I promised myself I’d try
Do wasted hours mean anything?
Because when it’s time to die
The memories we cherish most
Are the only things of worth in our lives
It’s funny then that I’ve spent the past year
Thinking things would change
When every day I’ve voluntarily
committed myself to a cage
And that picture can never be perfect
No matter how much I dream
Or how hard I try
There will always be a speck of dust
And finger blocking the lens
To prevent me from ever being there with you again.
Why should we ever say hello?
If we must in time bid farewell?
And tell me what’s the point of spending time,
When I’m biding mine?
It often seems that all we are
Is anywhere but existence
And the day I die I'll wonder
Was it everything I had envisioned?
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