Ask you
I’m not sure if the memories are true, Because I’ll never be able to ask you, And that is what weakens me most. To live them in my mind, and not yours, too, Those stolen moments and dreams And wonderfully sweet things, Can you remember those things, even in Heaven? I’d ask if I was right, “Remember that one night!?” And you’d frown and correct where I was wrong, You’d remind me of a detail, And I’d do the same, Until a picture, painted, within a shared frame. I’d tell you all the good things you’ve left with me, And in curiosity, I’d ask if I’d also given you any. I’d like to hope, a few, but perhaps just one or two, Is all you could remind me of from Heaven. If I see you again, I’ll say something witty (because that’s what I do when I’m nervous). I hope you will smile, and just sit for a while, to talk about life before pagers. (See? That’s kind of funny when you stop to think about when we had pagers and the time before pagers even...). I’m still wi...