People and Places

This is the beginning of the end.

Somewhere else, new things are stirring. And the old, familiar

ones are beginning to rust, beginning to mould themselves into

immovable patterns set in time.

Like nostalgia.

Places begin to fix themselves too, piecing together scraps of

memory to form an identity.

People are made of places.

Places that seep into you like rain, leaving behind faint

irremovable marks.

There are places I’ll remember

All my life though some have changed

Some forever not for better

Some have gone and some remain

All these places have their moments

With lovers and friends I still can recall

Some are dead and some are living

In my life I’ve loved them all.