Thirty Years

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Its not been quite thirty years, but let's put that down to artistic licence. In any case it is getting on for that, and the point is the sentiment, not the exact timespan.... Yes, I'm rambling here.... but this one is intensely personal and needs little explaining.... Just read the verses.

 

 

Thirty years since I have seen you, thirty years that seem like *that* (snap fingers)

Thirty years that I have wondered, where you are and what you’re at.

No, in truth its been a decade since I thought of you at all.

‘Til I chanced across your image posted on a Facebook wall.

 

It was not a perfect picture, you weren’t even to the fore,

And it wasn’t even labelled, and was posted by a bore.

But I spotted you at once there, grainy background though you were,

All at once I heard your laughter and your voice like you were here.

 

Then I smelt your hair and perfume, like the time I held you near,

Felt your lips the time you kissed me, saw your face, now crystal clear.

And in my imagination once again I wondered what,

Would have happened if I’d tried it on….   I used to, quite a lot.

 

But it has been thirty years and very different lives we’ve had,

And we’ve travelled our own pathways through the good times and the bad.

So we’re very different people than we were so long ago,

And we hadn’t much in common then, we've even less by now.

 

Yet that image, thirty years on, piqued my curiosity,

About the girl that I recall, and whether she remembers me;

Is she single? Is she married? Is she happy? Is she not?

Does she still snort when she giggles, does her smile still shine like that?

 

So I’ll see if I can find you, get in touch with you one day,

Maybe take you out for coffee, talk a bit, then wend my way.

‘Cos the chances are far greater, you won’t like me, than you will.

Yet if one chance in a thousand happens…

                                                                          …I’ll be going still.

 

For I chose my path in life with open eyes and open mind,

And I made a conscious choice to leave behind what’s left behind.

But I’ll think of what we might have been, and maybe shed a tear.

And perhaps I’ll check in once more, in another thirty years.

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