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How is it that we never completely comprehend our love for someone until they’re gone?
And I am left with a longing for the way things were.
In time we often become one with those we once failed to understand.
We want things we cannot have. We seek to reclaim a certain moment, sound, sensation. I want to hear my mother’s voice. I want to see my children as children. Hands small, feet swift. Everything changes. Boy grown, father dead, daughter taller than me, weeping from a bad dream. Please stay forever, I say to the things I know. Don’t go. Don’t grow.
It’s the loneliest thing in the world, waiting to be found,
Why is it that we lose the things we love, and things cavalier cling to us and will be the measure of our worth after we’re gone?
