by Maria Crisafulli
I reach for those days. Who was I then? I wonder.
As the days dwindle to the last I cant help but die.
What I have known is no longer mine. A new beginning grows closer, my now, suddenly a fragile line.
A new ending in the making as I watch it all fade away.
In to the darkness, illuminated by the sunlight now. These days are endless, or so I thought.
All just a memory, memories of yesterday, the days we remember make up who we are today.