Loss: curious, intangible
(well, somewhat)
You cannot place it
You cannot even put your finger onto it
But it's there -
With a heavy foreboding
There's melancholia
Lingering in the air
Tinged with
An aroma-
Freshly baked donuts?
Mint candy?
Stale coffee?
You don't even recognize it
But something was lost
And forgotten,
That you know.
You feel it in your bones
With finality.
That moment
When you shut your eyes
And lines blur
And memory fails
And you don't remember
Every detail
In that moment
The sense of doom
Settles
And sinks in.
You know
You're losing something
Precious
You know it's started,
The work of time
And you know something's gone -
That thing you held onto, so close,
And for so long
Freedom may often be near,
And yet, you tend to question
Whether you really want it -
That freedom
For,
(as you soon come to realize)
Living in the past,
Often has it's own charm.
