And so we talk about trivial things
Like the weather forecast
Because talking about hard things is too real and real things are too hard
But the pictures don’t lie and I can feel the rush of air
Through the hole in my heart
And birthdays keep coming around
One per year, or so
Even though you are stuck in stasis
And it remains up to us
To keep getting older
Your smile never gains another crease, and
No more grey hairs adorn you
While I dab concealer over dark spots
And memories
caroline ridgway 