I see your past in cross-processed film,
in blown-out colors and over-saturation.
You told me all about it, told me grand stories:
you were going to go back in time and save the world.
I see your past in yellows and browns,
in umber and sienna and amber, in a younger sun.
You sat and told me how — and you were always sitting —
you thought past-you dreamt of a future less complicated than today.
I see your past through film-grain and vignette,
with a thick white border, space on the bottom to write.
You told me how you learned so many imperfect things,
in so many less than ideal ways, always at inopportune times.
I see your past in architectural drawings of unrealized buildings,
in paperback covers reaching towards heaven, in trillions of words.
You figured past you dreamt of, not perfection,
but a world unconstrained by so many failures.
I see your past with no me in it,
and wonder if past-you dreamt of us.
Unimportant Verse 1
Imported from SF2 with no description.
8 years ago
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Estimated reading time
1 Minutes
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