Just smoke and mirrors, I murmer to myself,
when memories come knocking, peeking around the doorjam.
Making me think you've come home.
Only for a second, mind you...
I know...I know you're gone.
Bits and pieces of the past
tenderly laid ,along with tears
in a plastic box beneath my bed, attest to that.
It's just sometimes...
I walk along the river bank,
to that spot where your ashes danced upon the water,
my steps falter...
that yesterday of long ago seems so new.
Smoke and mirrors.
Past is past, I can't change that.
