Poetry of Time

When we are young and inexperienced, we often try to present ourselves with a kind of dramatic grace in front of the ones we love. We say things like “I respect any decision you make” or “If you leave, I will still wish you happiness.” These words sound noble, but more often than not, they are spoken against our true feelings.

We force ourselves to appear generous and composed, hoping that the other person will admire or be moved by our so‑called sacrifice.

Over time, after experiencing the ebb and flow of people and relationships, we begin to understand something painful but true: there are people who, once you loosen your grip even slightly, will disappear forever— shrinking from reality into memory, becoming a quiet concern that stays with you for life.

Only then do we truly let go of the idea of “grace.” We stumble, we cry uncontrollably, we embarrass ourselves—and we no longer care.

What is the point of appearing great? We are not seeking to be remembered for generations.

When you meet the person you truly do not want to let go of, do not let go.

Wild Roses

by Agatha Christie

I know
Where the wild roses grow
Beside the lake.
The little spirits come and play,
And pink and white
Dance in the light
Before the break of day!
The sun comes up in golden heat,
The roses open wide... and fall...

And that is all...
Except I think I hear a sound
Along the ground,
Of many little pattering feet...

No more
Shall my wild roses of yore
Walk by the lake.
She told me where the rose sprites were
And how they played
All undismayed
By her sweet presence there!
Then death rose up twixt her and me!
She ...