Written by Freelancer

Grief and Love shook hands,

Then decided that was too formal,

And embraced.

Both glanced at Time and chuckled,

Fascinated by how so many

Bought her lies of deadlines

Applying to either of them.

“No, we are outlaws,” Grief announced,

“thrown about by the wind and holding memories hostage.”

“I prefer to think of us as redecorators,” Love quipped,

“Either way, nothing is the same after we arrive.”

The friends settled in for the night, for the long haul.

They sat in your favorite chair.

They picked out your favorite show.

The reruns played as Nostalgia took its place as a foot rest

And I sat between them,

Pressed but not crushed.