maybe I waste my time on sentimentality
preserving the evidence of time and texture in a photograph of a building with peeling paint
preserving the love emotions, the qualities of a time and place,
in a poem
what is reality right now?
the horrible moment
that I have or have not prepared for
that I may or may not remember
the details or future memory changes
It will never be the same
these are things a dear friend has given me, who I cannot be with very much. So I asked, do the things even really matter? will the things ever stop mattering?
And, I decide. I make it up.
as I go along