Isn’t this poem beautiful?
I like the idea of how things drift in and out of our lives and the hopeful certainty that like a tide everything eventually comes back…but then I’m a foolish dreamer, what can I say…
The evening advances, then withdraws again
Leaving our cups and books like islands on the floor.
We are drifting, you and I,
As far from another as the young heroes
Of these two novels we have just laid down.
For that is happiness: to wander alone
Surrounded by the same moon, whose tides remind us of ourselves,
Our distances, and what we leave behind.
The lamp left on, the curtains letting in the light.
These things were promises. No doubt we will come back to them.
by Hugo Williams