Sometimes, I think of you, and I
squeeze my eyes shut—as though somehow,
eyelids can be barriers to
the memories that perpetu-
ally rush back to my mind as
violent waves. Very often,
these recollections of the past
come at first as agitated
ripples before transforming in-
to larger, more destructive un-
dulations. But memories can-
not be ceased by the eyes, for they
are seen with the mind alone. Stop-
ping memories is just about
as effortless as stopping a
tsunami.
YOU ARE READING
Path to the Moon ✓
PoetryWe are all simply doing everything we can to find our charted path to the moon. © Copyright 2016 by Lily White. All rights reserved.