496. February

I really did love you once,
from the depths consciousness
upon greeting every day,
and not yet quite replicated;

Inarguably, I still do,
as days don’t stratify in time
like we do, and likewise I
didn’t cease to love you.

Yet memories, like a gust,
swirled fluidly in circles,
in turbulence, forming storms,
or gently lifts a shedding petal.

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Time has a way of moving on when the pen takes its pause and the writing ceases. Likewise, when love takes its leave, however optimistic the promise of return.