Not even certainties.
Fluid as the weather—
From hurricane to breeze.
Judgment's temporary,
Permanent like Sharpie.
People feel contrary—
Fist fight at a party.
Bruises go away, though.
You won't stay black and blue.
Tempers mold like playdough.
We forget what is true.
Years later you cross paths.
One smile becomes two.
You start to do the math...
Perhaps, the blame should be on you.
Hindsight isn't perfect.
Perfection can't exist.
So, there's no point in crying 'bout the details that you missed.
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