It starts slow.
Little things you forget to do.
Little words you forget to say.
Some thoughts die, some memories too –
Just little things.
It’s a human condition.
Let’s just attribute it to genes.
It’s like waking up to life
And forgetting all of sleep’s dreams.
It’s a recurrence of the new,
It’s a letting go of the past;
It’s another one of life’s lessons:
All good things seldom last.
Little things come in that are new:
A word of love, a laugh that rhymes,
A road that hasn’t been taken,
A blurring of drawn out lines.
People talk of love and faith and hope;
But time corrodes even diamond rings;
And they lie forgotten in the universe,
Swept off in dust as little things,
Just little things.
Hearts Still Care 