so close, yet so far
everything feels like
yesterday;
your voice, your lips
your eyes, your
disinterest.
my seat
always faces forward.
always towards you. but
every time you
speak to me,
the grains of sand
that are the past
dissipate.
lost in the triviality
that is the present.
and so i can’t
help but wonder
if i reach out
and touch your hair
will it disappear with
the wind?
or will you look at me
with a look that doesn’t say:
it’s too late.