In the last years of my life
I began to look over what I had done with myself
Remembering the good
The bad moments and those in-between
People I’ve never known,
Like the women with the long legs
On summer night we would meet
I never knew here name
So she will always be the long legged women to me
She would talk I would laugh the hours would pass in a haze

Here I sit contemplating fate

I never tried to find her name
Fearing I would capture or contain her
Fractured past and frayed future is all that’s left now
I imagine others thinking of my life
Looking over as I am the tales I have created
Finding their own conclusions
Some may call it pathetic
Giving only rejection before moving on
Turning to another thought
Maybe of there own long legged woman
Some look down on those who talk of the past
But when all you have left is age
Some times your stories
Are enough to keep you going