Histories

Histories

I promised not to,
 
But today I pick up the pen and draw memories with words,
 
Sounds in letters,
And the rare touch of hands in rhyme.
 
I walk in beauty,
Like the night,
And watch loves lost haunt dreams
Until I wake up, unsure of my choices and wishing for peace.
 
But my hair grows and the wind blows and ropes of crunchy leaves line the sidewalk.
 
I read poetry and write papers and calculate and calculate,
And every answer leads me further down this path, 
a fork I have chosen and will not regret.
 
So this book of regret and spite and anger sits idle and I move around it, 
Watch it collect dust.
 
It is finally time to wish it well,
And put the past away. 
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