Lost Days

You’ll remember none of this, I’ll bet.

All these days
in the car
on the road
with the radio
with the questions
with the pestering
with the mustard on the fries
– which you know I hate,
but you purposefully put on,
time and again…
these times, they’ll be a’changin’,
and we’ll be changing, too,
and I will treasure all of it
but I can’t say the same for you
because you’ll remember none of this, I’m certain.

The hours we spent
just dancing about nothing
and glancing at architecture
and séancing seashells
looking to get a rise out of something beneath the waves
on gray days and moonless nights
and fogged over afternoons,
you”ll have forgotten me, I’m sure of it.

These coins trickle down slots of memory
filtering through paths of weight
and shape and form
going to exactly the places
they were fated to go,
as destiny designed.
These coins go
where they are meant to
and I place my bets
that your coins
are not weighted so heavily
where I am concerned.

You’ll consider these days a little
every now and again
and wonder who I was
once in a while
but while I may have echoes of our yesterdays
blasting through my everyday
I very much doubt that I will be quite so much your concern
nor will my concern
be your consideration.

This will be a long lost time for you,
and for me, too,
but probably in a very different way.

About Jonathan Berger

I used to write quite a bit more.
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