Aftermath

Coming back through the road I use to turn off full beams and headlights full of you, you are all here again as cracks reappearing back in mind; Some rear view road closed off behind. When, after coming out of this everytime, meeting you on some different route, It opens up and suffers all again, the road stretched back it seems to meet some common cause, some love in me I lack. These feet we used to tread the tracks are tired out; have given up carrying us to a place we visit now just as graves. But not with flowers or any sentiments: the memories are as dead: us going down and grass growing up instead.