I hear scenarios playing in my head
Of conversations with you or without you
Anyone really
Anticipating next encounters
With dialogue that sparkles and dances
But disappears into the dark abyss of that mine called memory
Sometimes I’ll bring something back
A memory of a chance encounter
I rerun the scene editing out the bad bits
Take two, take three
Cues up the inner dialogue again
Then for a second I rewrite history
Imagining futurepasts and might have beens
Instead of the present where reality intrudes to tie my tongue
The present, where my verbal gift is reticence
I try to be in the moment
But not necessarily this one
David Trudel © 2013
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