taken for granted.

a light available with the flick of a switch –

forgotten as easily as sunset –

consumed by night.

with less than disregard,

we close the book –

forget the stories of temporary companion.

disengaged from the process of relevance –

memories tossed with careless abandon into the placid sea of regret.

what purpose then –

the pursuit of interaction?

surely the absence of superficial accommodation less painful

than wounds incurred by relentless attacks

from arsenals of indifference…