Sure the blossoming trees were beautiful
And sure the serene sky was a perfect hue of blue
But it was the woman walking hand-in-hand with her father, known only to the locals as ‘the dementia-man’, that truly took my breath away
A family’s very own memory lane, fond times she needed, wanted to point out, rather painstakingly recall to him
Oh how this particular hero’s imagination could wax and wane time and time again, would fall disappointingly, all too agonisingly short
Perhaps his daughter really ought to have thought this one through
“Oh, remember that curfew you placed on me, out ’til ten, smoking cigarettes with my first boyfriend Johnny, beneath THAT monstrous oak tree?”
He could see it, but was utterly unable to grasp it
Taking some time out, he sat with his pasty face in his trembling hands
Eerily frustrating, managing to forget the sands of time, those grains failing to rain down upon him
No such anticipation going on inside
A hollow brain, the more they tried to collide with time, the more everything seemed to slip-slide