Not quite a poem, not quite a post

You'd think at 40, I'd know better than to wonder why friendships slip away.

Strong connections made become weak ones, regretted.

Used to be, letters unanswered over time told the story, gently.

The Internet makes the ebb sting like sand running over feet, immovable, as you see imprints elsewhere and question: Why not here?

Trees bud.

Flowers fade.

Snow falls.

Rain soaks the ground and water races. Away.

---

As for real poems, have you seen Amy Turn Sharp's poem project? She's writing a poem a day for the next year and, so far, I'm wild about them. Go. 

Comments

[nic @mybottlesup]

Oooof this makes me miss you.

[Lea R.]

Makes me miss you, too. Just to let you know, I've been keeping a Living Social offer in my inbox, for a room for up to six people at some resort in Williamsburg, simply because I keep imaginging meeting up with you and Esme (and others) there for a long weekend. Sigh. That's much less poetic, but still.

- L

[Dana]

I MISS YOU BOTH!