Nevie

And she was with me and I with her. And we would remember we said. We both said. And I do, and I wonder if she did or does. And whenever I think back to her, it seems today has love for me to accept. A spirit of freedom, sharing a bed, and loving in that physical way. Loving as I had never known it before. Enough to remember with passion. Enough to recall with pleasure and excitement. And then she would turn away. To be apart, I think from what had just taken place. To detach herself from it all. And I remember a limp embrace of farewell. But mostly I do indeed remember her. And I often wonder where she is today, and I wonder where it was that she went. And I wonder about the place that I was with her, and what she thought of it, and perhaps today, now thinks of it. And memory is a dream that cannot reach into the present day with reality. But memory is of something that was once real. And memory suggests romance to me. And where it is love that is concerned then memory can be a beautiful and romantic thing. And we are all imperfect people in this imperfect world. Where there is no-one to praise and there is no-one to blame ultimately. We just get along and get on with it. In a world where there really aren't answers to the questions. And I'm not really sure that I can remember the original question. Perhaps life itself is the question.