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For the thousandth time,
the sun sets
on the pile of regrets
propped up against the wall
where they have been left
untouched for a thousand days
like sacred, but cursed, relics.
They don’t take too much space,
but they take enough.
Their elongated shadows fall
for the thousandth time
on the better loved things.
The waning light engages
in conversation about reasons
as it touches their surface
made of cheating mirrors,
but there isn’t enough time.
A few moments of shifting sky
can’t unravel a tangle of
good intentions,
bad decisions,
and doubtful timing
played and replayed over
many a sleepless night before
they got abandoned on that wall.
The day ends, its torn edges
descending like ashes
and coming to rest among
the soiled memories that
regrets wear as clothes.
They smell of dust and excuses,
of burned bridges
and the stale perfume of
the quaint waking dream
they used to be before
everything went wrong.
Where the light has failed,
darkness next arrives
and they can pass
as birthmarks instead of scars.
They assume different names:
anger, hurt, yearning
wisdom, even;
and settle deeper
where the heart knows no better
and believes there is no other
way to live.

“Casual 4am Walks” by photographer Josh Sam


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