Only the boring parts were left…
Matthew Ryan Fischer
The alarm clock interrupted his peace.
How had morning come again already?
Too soon and yet never unexpected.
He was tired; the day beginning.
The sun rose; so should he.
Repeated, nothing changed, patterned the same.
The toothpaste tube was nearly empty.
He had forgotten the grocery store.
What would he eat for breakfast?
Running late, no time to cook.
He barely had time for coffee.
Certainly no time for extra delays.
No time to iron his shirt.
No time to shine his shoes.
Hopefully he had found matching socks.
He tied his tie, but unwell.
He fell behind, never on time.
The clock kept tick, tick, ticking.
He looked in the mirror again.
There were too many grey hairs.
He thought about cutting them out.
He grew tired of his reflection.
Never the same man looking back.
Age had come much too soon.
The sheets were worn and thin.
Disappointed, he reluctantly made the bed.
They had never been his choice.
It seemed as though nothing was.
She had wanted them, not him.
He wasn’t ready to change yet.
Lonely, still, after all this time.
Like it or not, he remembered.
He always remembered: her; the past.
Ghosts and memories and more ghosts.
Never to be forgotten or forgiven.
Certainly not unless time moved on.
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