… and we had our afternoon in the sun,
playing, talking, having fun…
One of us never knew how fake the dreams were,
how much the other one just didn’t care…
So our afternoon stays forever that way
with no more words left ever to say…
No more jokes, no more games and no more lies…
Somehow that afternoon’s just filled with good-byes…
…’cause we had our afternoon in the sun
and we just didn’t savour it, never had none
of the joy that was somehow, through rum, portrayed
as the days passed us by, nothing more was really said.
… and a part of me still wonders why the hell not?
Where are the words we seem to have forgot?
Where is the love that was on display?
On that one sunny afternoon, that day?
… time has moved on, and so have we.
I guess there’s not much more left to see?
But that day, that afternoon still haunts me now
as I pack up my boxes and say good-bye.
… time passes the way time was always meant
and there will always be days we were simply not meant
to spend in the sunshine, but in the cool indoors…
The days that will haunt me forever more.
I’ve thought loads about my past year recently, perhaps because the end of the spring psychoanalysis session was coming up. Last summer I was so focused on emotions, so focused on being wrongly done by and on this blog… This year I face a month and some on my own. It’s scary, but still I wanted to dredge something up from the past. And the Mag 124 gave me just enough reason to… I suppose I could have done a better job of matching the poem to the image, but these are the words that were in my mind, so these are the words I’m putting down. As always, thank to the wonderful Tess Kincaid for her relentless effort to provide us with prompts.