Prose Poetry — The Past and I

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Abstract

ories, family, home. A little bit of past as if it is a real place somewhere far away. As if I could take a bus and go, I just have to tell my boss and set an auto-reply at work. Then, I can go.I will meet my friends, it will be just like old days. I will sit at the porch with my mom, we will talk about that movie. As if all this will happen again.<p i

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d="8a0f">I send a message, I like a photo. I write “sorry I missed your wedding", as if everything we have is not just the past. It has been 13 years. It could be 30 more.A real look into morrow…Work, dinner, I have to fix the plumbing. Where are all the people I was sure I’d see again?Why was I?</article></body>

Prose Poetry — The Past and I

Photo by author — My mother in fog.

I march on, thinking of my past as “I”. I hold on to it, like it means everything.

Memories, family, home. A little bit of past as if it is a real place somewhere far away. As if I could take a bus and go, I just have to tell my boss and set an auto-reply at work. Then, I can go.

I will meet my friends, it will be just like old days. I will sit at the porch with my mom, we will talk about that movie. As if all this will happen again.

I send a message, I like a photo. I write “sorry I missed your wedding", as if everything we have is not just the past. It has been 13 years. It could be 30 more.

A real look into morrow…

Work, dinner, I have to fix the plumbing. Where are all the people I was sure I’d see again?

Why was I?