You share your stories filled with ghosts
your “what ifs” and your “coulda beens”
that left you with a heart in pain.
I see you and I raise you one:
my path could not have been more clear,
until the day it disappeared.
My coulda/woulda/shoulda beens
fell victim to the shifting tides
where hope and hesitance collide.
Now we dance around each other’s words
–avoidance is a practiced art–
and hold back sharing any truth.
To stumble, worse, to crash and burn
is meant for others in their youth.
Dissolved, those castles made of sand,
long lost, the prince and maiden fair...
our innocence has been replaced:
we know too well the hidden tolls,
each tick mark carved out on our face.
I think the reason that we tarry
and write of angst and hidden pain
is a fence we build to guard what’s left
of a love we carry that is gone...
~ We can't be 'hurt' if we don’t respond ~
© Ginny Brannan 2025
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Thank you for reading my poetry and sharing your thoughts.