A color or a faint smell will trigger the memory. I recall the thought of what an imagined kiss would have been like stolen from tender and passionate lips. There is a phone call. The phone call comes only when there is a need which is material. I wonder...is there, was there ever, desire even a little? Who was it sat with, and took the ailing to, the hospital. Still, to dwell on such is to seek the accolades of men. This is not desired.
Try though I might, I cannot escape the shades of things past which do now haunt me. Memories of a forgotten woman...leave me! Allow my existence free from fetters. Standing in the light of day, I see the shadows that are cast realizing that they continually lurk just beneath the surface.
