The Purple Shirt

On an inconspicuous whim

I looked her up

As I just happened to be passing

Through the town that stayed the same.

In the cafe on Sepia Street,

The one time often forgot,

Two of the ritual coffees

Stood sentinel between us.

She was wearing the purple shirt

Whose shade enticed me to think

That things perhaps could be

As they once were.

Impressions of autumnal light

Wafted long walks in dappled beauty,

Fragments which had lain dormant within me

From the town that stayed the same.

But once precious eyes

Now like vacant shadows

Hung along the brick alleyways

No longer held their unique radiance.

The familiar, touching voice

Reciting rerun stories

Was now a poor cover

Of a once beloved song.

The faithful mugs depleted,

Necessary niceties repeated,

Lighter than before, I took my leave

Of the town that stayed the same.