Things That Aren't Here

[real sail]

How little we learn in the span of a day;
how little we learn in a year.
How little we cherish those everyday things —
we mourn only things that aren't here.

We go through the motions of manners of love.
It's everyday formality.
And then once it's over, we only can think
of how nothing was done properly.

Did I love hard enough? Did I treat you with care?
Did I yell? Did I wound? Was I fake?
Did I do as I would if I thought you'd be gone?
Were those choices my choices to make?

How little we learn in the span of a day;
how little we learn in a year.
How little we cherish those everyday things —
how we break when they're no longer here.

I'm not sure how to tag this as serious or if it's serious enough to be under serious. Feel free to correct me, mods.

[rancid cave]

this poem is really good
the first and last stanza actually remind me of a poem that I wrote a while back (which I realized I didn't post here so I will)

[real sail]

Thank you!

I'm going to bed, so I'll attend comments tomorrow.

[rancid cave]

wait before you go would u like to read the poem?
its #1197075037811908668

[real sail]

I did read it. Thank you for sharing.

I'm too tired to understand it or give good feedback.