Posted in Original Works

Smoke: a poem

Hours blur into days

weeks

months.

Suddenly a year has passed and all I have is

a smattering of insignificant moments in my hands because I

was in too much of a hurry to gather the rest.

They happened—

—but they’ve passed.

And each day they grow closer to being forgotten.

What happens next always seems to be more important

than what happens now.

There is never a present moment that is quite satisfactory

that I can quite grasp.

The moments dissolve like smoke

easy to see

but impossible to hold.

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Author:

Hello! My name is Katie and I like to write. If I'm not writing, I'm probably reading, running, playing with my dogs, or eating peanut butter ;)

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