Losing It

Like a child’s greased hands holding a ball

You slip away.

The harder we hold the faster we move,

An instinct to move on cries.

The scrawl of you words across a page

And the smell of a room and an unmade bed

Where bodies have laid in a peaceful sleep.

The empty bed, the empty room and we all move on.

And we leave, losing it along the way.

We can miss what we had; we can remember what we had

But it will all be lost in history,

As you, and me, walk away in the act of leaving.