I was young once
running hard
as soon as my feet hit the ground.
Now I look in the mirror
and the lines on my forehead surprise me.
Crow’s feet I was expecting
or maybe smile lines
if I was lucky
but I suspect that whenever it was
the lines showed up
something else left—
the part of me that could sleep all night
the part of me that preferred
a cold beer or a whiskey shot
over coffee
and lived hard—
the part of me without you.
Well done. I dig it.
Thanks. 😊
You craft this poem from the title to its ending…
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