On Memory and Losing Love (first time poster)

A skirt, the sea,
A turn on heel,
That smile, a Switch,
Some poetry;
I do indeed see irony.

‘Spots of time’
Wordsworth defines memories as, which
perforate reality.
A rose is a rose is a rose – call it whatever you want. But
A rose by many other names could never smell as sweet as
Night air, that smile and Cadbury’s Fruit and Nut.

They say time heals all wounds,
But time flies. How did it get so late so soon?

What is time?
A line?
A spot?
Is time equal to or greater than five?
My mind can recount a lifetime in a second,
But surely it was longer than that…
At least two.

You only live once – and yet
The reader lives a thousand lives.
How many does the average person get?
If reality is merely an illusion.
What is truly more untrue than memory:
A thousand renditions of a scene in which
A pebble moves an inch until
It’s you that’s moved – give an inch,
Be taken a mile just to remember
that smile.

But if you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything at all.
Are memories lies? Withal
The truth is rarely pure and never simple - just like love.
We accept the love that we need to deserve, though
All that glitters is not affection and
Better to be loved for who you seem than hated for the truth you know.

It does not do to dwell on dreams,
But in the gutter, some of us must look for the stars. Have you ever been in love?
Horrible, isn’t it?
But all you need is love, we are told.

A memory;
My skirt, that sea,
I turn and look,
That smile, a switch
Is this still real?
I remember – the irony!

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