On another empty Sunday
Afternoon, he takes his notebooks
From their dusty shelves to read
Through his past again, and find
The exact point where it all went
He looks out of his window at
The void of autumn sun and
Cloud, the view as blurred as his
Memories. On the crisp pages
He finds the letters he sent to
An auburn girl who disappeared.
Perhaps that was the moment.
R 01/10/2023 12:47