London Poem: Day 68

24 October

We scrape together
Pieces of conversation –
Fragments, little blips of
Things we want to remembered for.
It is never who we really are.
Loud thuds echo off,
Concealing the delicate qualities
That linger behind it all.
It’s a dance, a foxtrot; a charleston.
Silence is where we excel,
But we’ll never know
Because the choreography is laid out,
And impossible to bypass.
You still have you destination,
And sure enough you’ll get there,
However where you are
And where the world will go
Have set out on separate paths.
The dance continues, with new partners
And new lives.
I only hope that I am still there when
You arrive.

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