It’s always too late,
that passing glance,
when eyes seemed to look away,
rather than enjoy one another’s
intensity.
~
Instead we might cry,
if having to see inside each other’s soul
would mean capturing a moment,
that disappointing announcement,
suggesting we are fallible.
~
I remember sitting by the red chairs,
the gas lit fire,
along the riverwalk did we stare
in disbelief
as winter turned to spring to fall.
~
If only in that spread of a moment
the essence of time and how it has a rule
never stopping
always asking each of us
only move forward, never look back.
~
If we could decide upon one day
would we ever really design our way.
© Scott F Savage 9/2021
apersonaljourney - stories of love 