Fleeting

We seldom feel the moment when it's near, Too caught within the comfort we hold dear. The glow that slips between the cracks of time, It warms the skin, but rarely stirs the mind. The room is full, the voices bright and near, But nothing says, 'You'll miss this when you go'. No flare, no sign, no line drawn in the sand, Just days we never cared to understand. The laughter echoes softer than before, A quiet pause beneath the closing door. And only when the silence has its say, Do we begin to wish it all would stay. So while you're here, and everything feels amiss, Look twice: they just might be the good ol' days still!