The people I know are interesting,
to say the least.
Some are glorious, for about two seconds,
then sometimes I wonder if I know them still,
what’s left of them, at least.
Fireworks, I call them.
There’s no warmth to them,
but they’re beautiful still, even briefly, that’s how I see them, at least.
Some are actually warm, Unlike Fireworks,
their presence isn’t exciting,
but comforting, at least.
Fireplaces, they’re like those.
Not necessarily beautiful, but familiar, almost common, still comforting, at least.
Some I don’t like looking at.
They’re not ugly per se,
but they do remind me of ugly things.
Ugly to me, at least.
Like coal, actually.
Remnants of a fire, something that was once warm,
something that died out.
How they died out, however, is unknown. Unknown to me, at least.
Some I barely remember.
I see bits and pieces of them, but can’t remember what they were or how I knew them.
I knew them, at least.
They’re like ash.
I know I knew them once,
I can’t, however, remember what they were.
What they were to me, at least.
Were they a firework?
A warm fireplace?
A chunk of coal that became even smaller?
Or were they just ash to begin with?
What they were,
What they are,
Who they were,
I know they were once people I knew.
I question if I could still say they’re part of the people I know,
and that’s the least I could say about them.