Wasted

There was an evening when I didn’t want a home. A wide valley below us symbolized our dreams. Or at least it did for me. We left each other, as if we had never met. I wondered what the hurry was. Today, I’m in prison and you’ve had a husband and a family that died or left you with nothing. What is it to live a life? Should we walk or run? Should we remember or forget? Either way, it can be wasted.