Hindsight’s Never Been So Blind

Do I recite the name in hopes it will bring back that old sensation

When hope was in the air, and just that word could reincarnate

Every bit of splendor that we shared?

No.

All that’s left is the smudge in hindsight

The blur that fights for recognition,

When I’d really prefer,

It stay no more, or no less, than a tiny, insignificant blur

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