The Truth Game
Sep. 12th, 2002 11:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
coalescentOne of the customer orders that turned up at work today was What You Make It, Michael Marshall Smith's short story collection (recommended, by the way, if you like a bit of 'dark fantasy'). I'd forgotten that there was a poem in it. Just the one, tucked away at the back:
The past is a game in which you, blushing, reveal
Where you were first kissed, and by whom -
And like the others, I sit and listen,
But unlike them I do not grin; because
All I can see are the bars in the window
Which prevent me from being him.
The past is a game in which you, blushing, reveal
Where you were first kissed, and by whom -
And like the others, I sit and listen,
But unlike them I do not grin; because
All I can see are the bars in the window
Which prevent me from being him.
