the strange are weary

i rub my eyes and try to focus. i can see by the rolling grass that the wind is strong and there is not much time. on the ground, smells that are familiar, i travel back to when things were simple and had bigger meaning. a touch...a smell...a feeling. is it always the right thing even when it feels wrong? we test our limits by removing the tangibles, thinking "if i cannot feel...i will not miss"

i miss
                          i miss

i miss
                                                                 i  miss

                                                                                                                               i can hear our conversation, years from now.

me: hey!
you: oh hey...
me: how are you?
you: i'm doing okay...i'm good. you? it's natural. me asking you what you asked me...
me: well... i suppose that's true. i'm doing okay.


such is life.