There will always be another generation

to record the same experiences,

making us regret all over again

the perfect piece of theatre,

shouted in the depths of the night

and whispered in the light of day,

that could have been made from

the mediocre tragedy,

bittersweet comedy,

quaintly absurd production –

ordinary, quiet, a little disillusioned,

small grey smudges on the tapestry of time –

that we lived and left as fragments.

Published in Neuro Logical Literary Magazine

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