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Poetry
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| why it ends | |
| By alandavidpritchard | ||||||
| 15 June 2007 | ||||||
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You’ll never be able to hang my picture in a frame, or drop my name in casual conversation as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I’ll never be invited over for family do’s which doesn’t bother me that much. It’s the don’ts that do. Don’t be here when they come round. Don’t pick up the phone, don’t make it sound like we exist or matter. Does it matter that evidence of our togetherness will never be seen? Is their desire to keep us apart no longer strong enough to keep us together?
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