Hold my hand again. Take me in your arms. Linger against me. Kiss me slowly; tenderly. While I don’t live in the past, your part in my life is as vibrantly fresh and alive as if it was yesterday; not twenty five years ago. This love is one of a kind that comes only once. Yours only I am. C.B.
I was never one to patiently pick up broken fragments
and glue them together again and tell myself
that the mended whole was as good as new.
What is broken is broken and I’d rather
remember it as it was at its best than mend it
and see the broken places as I lived.