That Now, They Do Not Matter Too. Poem by RIC BASTASA

it is easy to forget,
because it was never love anyway.
one day we meet and we look
at each other's eyes
and we feel nothing. It is like
a vacant lot with no house
and without discernible use.
some children play there.
and we sit on a bench watching
them and we remember such innocense
which we love and then miss.
oh we are no longer such kind anymore.
we say we have matured, we're the ripe
apples in that basket.
we look nice and expensive and hence
nobody dares buying, for we are to them
a waste of their money.
i sigh to all these not wanting to explain
anything. Here we are.
Oh, here i am. I belong to no one and
i do not intend to have anybody.
In my own eyes, i am a floater.
I wonder what caused me. What caused it.

It does not really matter. Let the children
play and let us continue watching and then
at any time we leave without telling them

that now, they do not matter too.