Um…I think I’d go back to the fifties when life was much more simple. Not too many cars on the road, much less crime, far less development, rolling green fields. I also think that people possibly appreciated life that bit more as war was over and a new beginning was sought. I think I’d go for a summer picnic in the English countryside with a basket full of good things such as ginger beer, sandwiches and fresh strawberries.You know kinda ‘Enid Blyton’ style life ;)
I miss you as dead things are missed:
first, the exquisite paroxysm, soothed by howls into:
a dull, aching prolongation, like the quavering caress of the bow on a violin string.
a sudden gasp of breath that freezes a room into stillness, useless icicles of tears lamenting onto the stained carpet.
with the certitude that what has been, will never again be