Movies

A hero turns conspiratorially, staring into my future. What he said into the camera then, is meaningless now, but I see his lips move, as if he were predicting this moment. A heroine hikes her skirt over her thighs, blood fills the flesh of memory. I remember I love her, but it is too late, she is dead, and she did not die young. Often, I wonder, about the never was and the could be. Has this been a badly spliced life? One day we may all get to watch our full movie.