One line
one direction:
tequila to hangover,
cause and then on
to effect.
No time machines, and
not enough forgiveness
to go around.
We all miss what never was
though we're supposed to know
what perfection was-
even before it shines clear in the
rear view mirror.
The past was, and remains all smokey eyes
and cringe-worthy first time drinks-
there's always that one, blinking
almost, burnt out filament
in the nasty bathroom
where we questioned everything the first time.
It all looks so perfect now.
We hate ourselves often;
catholic guilt if we're catholic
regret if we fall under the banner of
'everyone else'.
Nothing can be said
nothing can be done
but hope,
hope
to bump gently
on the shoulder of the future,
smile,
and carry on,
where we once were.
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