This dull familiarity embedded within bold freshness.
The ripely rotten feel of a new satisfaction.
A subtle memory of the one almost forgotten.
The inevitable encounter.
One who could not refrain.
That moment of pure bliss.
Perhaps only a single moment.
I, lost in the grey.
Should I?
Shouldn't I?
To regret would require hate.
But there is none, only sweetness.
A face forever captured in a single second of memory.
Something old and something new.
A forgotten smile.
The silent hello.
A year or so, there with her, there with him.
A subtle memory of the one almost forgotten.
The search to find.
The prolonged search.
The chained barrier above the ground.
A crowd below in September.
The inevitable encounter.
And the nervousness of the one who cannot refrain.
The inevitable.
September.