An evening like any other. Nothing
to tell me you were present in the world.
I received no notification
I could have missed you
I could have gone home that evening,
fallen ill, met another instead of you
Someone else would have taken me that night
Isn’t it better to be made of stone?
Or am I glad it was you?
It’s better to be grass
People mow it, weed it and
it grows wild again, never the same
heavenfaced 