The Virtue of Phantoms

Patience.  I’ve to rediscover that. I’ve to revisit it like a grave or a dusty yellowed photograph left in a keepsake until time’s hands are gone.  

Moments held still.  Moments long into what the stars no longer see.  Linger on then fade.  Invisible, untouchable, cast into what wind, what dust.

Words that no longer echo along empty corridors, seeping into its wood and nails.  Laughter and smiles, cozy beds on cold mornings, and all the time in the world to love each second of each.  Moments held but turn to ash within my palms.

I’ve yet to remember patience, although I try.  To wait for those days when once became twice, then three times and more.  For every curl of my lip upon what glad visage would appear.  I’ll be there again, then gone nevermore.

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