The day is like a story you have heard before. You are familiar with how it begins and you know how it will end. The characters and scenes you have seen before, played out like this across this usual stage.
I have seen these moments and held them close, keeping them safe from the deprecations of time and capricious memory. I kept them safe to give to you whenever you begin to wonder what this life is doing to you. However, you do not seem to recognise these things I have kept, examining them all with a quizzical eye as though they are the belongings of someone else, kept for no obvious reason.
You dismiss them with a shrug, as knickknacks and trinkets; merely the sad detritus of a life kept shut up in a drawer no-one has opened for years.
You hastily sweep them all away, ready – you say – for a new beginning, a new start, but when you look away into the distance, I see there are tears in your eyes too.
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