How many lives will we squeeze into 50 years or 100?
Which traces will we leave below ground?
Whose budgeted affections will we overextend to then regret our hasty indulgence?
Which personal histories are you writing today?
Looking back, how long did you keep your eyes closed?
What do you hear when I call your name?
We were younger but not smarter, where was our mistake?
I’m glad for you, really. For the life you’ve made. I keep saying, it makes sense. What am I not saying?
It’s possible to be happy with less. Who else is ready for that lesson?
What we saw in each other, it’s still visible after all, right?
Memories are untrustworthy. Thank you for remembering me.
We’re not done. We’re still growing. How’s that working out for you?