he is so simple.
his world is so different from mine.
so separate are his dreams
and his preferences.
he says very little.
he writes
this morning I saw
some lovely flowers in the lawn
and thought of you.
I know
I am at that dishevelled stage of life
where my face
is not much like any flower.
but I wish - whatever he says -
I could believe it a while.
-P.S
YOU ARE READING
ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND
Poesíawhat a loss to spend that much time with someone, only to find out that she's a stranger.
