I sit on the bed old memories playing like kids at recess yet, they are threadbare and unraveling, past voices and scenes of life weigh heavy as I search for the love they had

In my mind, I see clearly my mother’s hands,calloused and soft,cradling the weight of my childhood,her laughter like sweet songs of the woodthrush

My father’s shadow,a steadfast oak weathering storms with grace,his embrace a fortress,the scent of old spice clinging to his Hart, Schaffner, and Marx suits

I remember my grandparents,their stories told at family dinners,the warmth of shared meals in the beautifully simple ritual of togetherness, yet this very hour these moments now feel like handprints fading on a fogged-up window

Today, the 3rd day of  2026,the distance grows,the definitions stretch thin,as if love has become a currency,traded in likes and shares, or texts, snaps, insta, telegram and more, all, without verbal or emotional or physical connection

The sheep have been trained well by the government, society, social media and life has become nothing more than having your phone ready much like Wyatt Earp or Bill Hickock to see who draws quicker and all from behind a screen

I weep,not for the love lost,but for the love that feelslike a half-remembered dream, empty, alone, longing for real life real love where people really mattered more than status or posts