The season behind
is like a stranger
following me down a street.
We do a dance under street lamps
unaware of the future--
once forgetting one another,
once remembering,
and reminding me
that I cannot escape it
unless I were to turn a corner
and disappear down an alley-way.
Finding myself alone in Time,
he walks by
looking left and right,
forgetting the present.
10 years ago
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