A Memory of Faded Youth
I awoke at 3 A. M. and sat
on the edge of my bed, thinking
of a story I had written twenty
years ago, “Our Little Getaway,”
a safe refuge from the familiar
with the love of my life, another
me, another her, and in my story,
true to the core in its disguise, I felt
an easy abandon to life that I shed
along life’s way, and I despaired
my damaged heart and loss of vital
life, what I could do in an hour
now takes a whole day; no more
easy abandon, just a memory
of faded youth.
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