That Afternoon…

He put a marker on my soul
Before he ran away,
Like wind that moves the grass
That we can’t see

And hardly a week goes by that I
Don’t think about his going,
But I was young, it’s all
A blur to me

So, how is it that voice still echoes,
I still can smell that aftershave —
I hum the songs he used to love,
And still —

The day comes when it’s time, I guess,
And we can’t know each others’ souls,
I wish I could, but know

I never will

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