tessabbie

Two years here, seven years there, three more over there. Chunks of time, faded memories. New neighborhoods become old stomping grounds, and them Im gone. Faces Ill never see again. Hands never to be held again. Tactile sensations that still play with my nerve endings. Scents that tap me on the shoulder in the street. Was that her? Emotions informing dreams. A dull, muted sadness, pushed down, pushed back, pushed away, buried. Lives touched, lives changed, lives lived. Voices I will never hear again. And that breaks my heart. Keep moving.

-- Keith Alexander, 11/23/63-07/11/05