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A Preface. Someone once asked me, a friend, what is love?  I couldn’t answer him, not to my satisfaction, so I held my tongue.  Poets all have their opinions, some I agree with, many I don’t.  I can’t deny that love is.  I can’t deny that I feel it.  I know it isn’t lust, and I know it isn’t tangible.  I can’t feel the material that love is made out of.  I can’t show you love.  It’s in the air we breathe.  It’s in everything we do.  It’s as much a part of me, as a part of you, and your friends, and everything that’s made us smile, laugh, and cry.  It’s who we are, it’s wha

Memories John Jensen Remember when? Remember when we were? Remember when we were not? Remember when we could? Remember when we would? Remember when it was all so simple? Remember when it all ended? Remember when I cried? Remember when I lied? Remember when I died? Do you? Remember when we danced? Remember when we saw the moonlight? Remember when we were so lonely? Remember when we could-be? Remember when we should-have-been? Remember that moment passing?