Hindsight

There is no particular moment when loss becomes common place,
love becomes a black and white movie,
or a person becomes a memory.
Things like that just happen to the living.
Even the optimist realizes that

eventually

the glass overflows and the liquidity of life
drips all over the morning paper.
Even she has doubts about the outcome of belief,
envisions romance in color,
and wishes there were a moment,
 
Identifiable,

when she would recognize a memory for what it will be-
before it formed.
                         ~MNH June 2006