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This time

This time it is different.
This time it is for real.
This time.
Was it not real last time?
Was it not tangible?
But what of that before?
And the time before that?

I see nothing different;
Indeed they both seem true.
Happy as expected!
How can this time mean more
Than all the times before?

They move in unison,
Dancing along their string;
The web they weave is strong.
How can it not last long?

But now again they are apart;
Again, it seems, alone.
She, silent, nursing a tea,
He, racing, dodging traffic.

This time was no different.
There was no connection.
There were only moments
Of common selfishness.


I wrote this in July of 2009. Sharin liked it.

© 2009 Christopher Mahan.

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