One day in the future, sat at an old table most probably covered in books, pencils and scraps of paper that carry the distant thoughts of my heart, I will write of you. I will pick at old monochrome memories of memories and delicately place you upon the page. I will leave nothing back. I’ll connect the dots I never saw and with age and wisdom I will be given the clarity of hindsight. Until then I must collect an abundance of moments, for even without hindsight, I know you are to be more than a fleeting sentence in my dying thoughts.

Karen Hayward ©2016 (Image and words)


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