Down the street, at the edge of things you know, lie
possibilities you won’t explore, loves unused, friendships
unstarted, invitations failed. In the golden light,
years pass, with ghosts of would-be lives
superimposed on would-be paths,
like colored filters. What you are and what
you aspire to, what you’ve done or tried, all the love
you longed to share with someone who
didn’t notice. That day that could have blossomed,
but you were late. What didn’t happen is
a part of you.
This got me thinking. This morning I went out for coffee and now I’m sitting in a tire store, a nail in the right front. Every day a new day. The poem on the money in many ways. Thank you.
What didn’t happen is
a part of you.
This can be especially true when a person whom one loves is gone. I find regret can be a motivating force, urging us to a more complete engagement, as long as it does not overwhelm, becoming corrosive.
A provocative poem.
Thank you.