Why do I still throw myself
on the long-thorned
altar of remembering,
and crave that which cannot be?
Even that reminds me of him, dammit:
“You always want what
you can’t have,” he scolded once.
This grasping at the past must end soon.
Beating my bruised heart against the
stone cold wall of futility heals me not.



About boomergirl47

Retired from the University of South Florida. Love reading, writing, hiking, nature, music, birding, puttering around the house and yard.
This entry was posted in emotions, human interest, poetry, relationships, romance, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

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