Sometimes I Wonder

...if you're still visiting.

I wonder what would you say, if only you could, about the dying painter in me.

"Paint more stories and poems," that usual line of yours. I oddly remember your tone while saying it, your expression. Your eyes won't blink and your smile won't be.

"I'm serious," you would say.

...

 And I.
Would laugh.
Just a bit.
And I.
Would ask.
For stories.
And more stories.
And poems.


And maybe other reality.
Other reality. With you in it.
With you.