Changing Times

To remember your smile
is a blessing
and a curse,
like a hidden treasure,
an unsent love letter.

The image is strong,
stuck within my mind's walls - 
of your brown eyes 
always tucked in silly sunglasses.
But more than image 
is the lingering smell
of you in your plain white shirt, 
the uncanny spell
as you stare into my eyes,
and ultimately, the myth we created,
the myth we believed,
of times never changing.

How we defended this notion,
witnessing the subject of our myth,
the changing times firsthand -
spending nights
at nearby beaches
to see rising suns,
and spending dates 
at country plains
to see vanishing ones.

And when we had gone
after witnessing changing times,
the myth we once believed
was proven to be a folly.

Taken away was not
the moon nor the stars
nor the sun nor the blue skies.
Taken away was ours -
our myth of unchanging times,
the myth of our future picnics,
with whole-heartedly made sandwiches,
the myth of staying up all night,
for the rest of our days,
with the warmth of pillows 
and whispers and hugs.

To remember your smile,
To remember your face,
To remember our times,
was to remember 
the reality of our myth -
that times change
and so do ours.