When I Wrote

Prose Poetry

Stories that became short stories that became bite-sized notes that became poem-shaped sentences that became loose words with punctuations; a scripted “I can’t write anymore” now kept close for when someone remembers to ask, “whatever happened with that writing thing you did?”

All I know now is that good things end too soon, emptiness lingers the longest, and talent goes quick like the years we forget to count.

Originally written on October 3, 2020
Published in The Winter Door (page 26) on March 15, 2023