henniebear@kua

How is it, to live in a moment so fleeting it becomes the past?

To stare into the depths of yourself only to find a face so far and foreign–

you used to love the snow and ice

the dark and stormy winter nights

December's magic festive glow

now seems many years ago.

you crave the warmth of summer's kiss

let sunlight bring you back to bliss

When you pass by,

you will sigh a small “hi.”

and

(of course),

I may not be near–

enough to respond

and 

I despise annotating in my books and in my notes

It takes away from the beauty of the page

It's confusing and maiming and hurts the book

And it hurts me deeply

Too many shapes and writings to follow