Before I’m Gone

And there are these moments
in between
where every movement is significant,
like what I’m doing right now
Maybe not to me
but someone else,
someone who would miss
these tiny movements, 
these washing the dishes-walking the dog-writing a letter-moments
that linger
like shadows skimming brown walls.
Each step matters
and I’ve got to stop
wasting them,
forgetting them,
rejecting them,
so that others might remember
when I’m gone.




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