What will remain?
A confusion of photographs,
a film in silent staccato.
Perhaps a recording,
that familiar voice repeating
the same words over and over.
Letters, that fast familiar signature.
You will cling to these, revisit them,
one touch away from touching .
In the closest hearts the warm feelings
of love, and loss, continue,
until they also cool or pass.
You will have and hold dear, old tales
and stories, retold, and funnier
in the telling than ever was,
wanting them to be really real.
Until they also fade.
Only this may remain.
Only this to show what was anticipated,