its all been done

Every time I think of you I see things that slipped from my hands like sand through my fingers.

You have not one name and face, but several.

There are not many any reasons for me to turn my head and observe those landmarks which had been abandoned along the road, but none the less...I still do. I suppose for no other reason but nostalgia and nostalgia alone.

I think about them rarely, but when they surface in the corners of my mind they bring a soft pain to serve as a reminder. A reminder of mistakes.

And also as a reminder of triumph in the dark times.

I dare not say farewell to these scattered thoughts, events, and memories; for they are the fabric of which my life is woven. In whatever strange pattern they change and effect my soul...