An Imaginary Ending

I may one day forget the way your hands felt,

and might lose sight of the blue of your eyes.

I’m wading through old age with a failing brain,

a plight with frightening capabilities, but

disease won’t debilitate the past, and this

winding, derelict path remains alight

in sections long since trodden with

traces of your affection.

© Sam Hunt, 2018

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