Was it just an innocent smile that replaced years of laughter or an accidental touch that diminished our intimacy to this now forced response? Was it the freedom or just the way she “gets” you that reduced me to a passerby in our hallways?
Was it the thrill, the secrecy, the mystery?
Exactly what did it take to delete all the years I gave you – the love, the loyalty, my soul? Just what did it take to destroy us?
Leaving was more than I could bear, and coming back offered no resolve. This place, me, the salt water on my skin – how could I have gone when so much of me got stuck here, and so much of this place clung to my hopes, my promises and now my regrets?
A young couple, full of flirtatious spirit, catches my eye, so I watch them before I go (again). In this moment I can’t help but beg of life’s great interventions – Why did you take me from this place and this place from me?
I suppose we all have them – journeys and destinations we can’t shake. But we blink, and we kind of forget, because the forgetting helps us cope when the remembering hurts too much.
Drowned my pills,
and drank at will,
said my prayers,
cursed that hill,
clawed my way
to another day,
begged to go,
cried to stay.
Lost in the noise of people living and the chaos of the breathing, we forget ourselves – all the passions, all the believing that feeds the dreamer and kills her at the same time. #poetryinmotion #mywritings
I told you who I was,
but you never saw me.
I showed you my soul,
and you never heard me.
So I slipped away one day,
standing right before you.
And no one ever heard the
door close when love left.
“It’s a crown,” she boasted in front of a captive audience. “I found it in the ditch the other day after it rained. And you know the Nile flows through those waters and washes up stuff from the past. And on that day, it washed up none other than Cleopatra’s crown!”
As she began to pass it around the class, she cautioned, “Hold it gently! It’s old and priceless.”
The teacher interrupted in an authoritative voice, “Why that’s nothing but an old carburetor. It’s just junk!”
The children snickered.
Wounded, she tucked her crown back into her backpack. And forty years later, telling that story, she wonders what ever happened to her rare find and the great explorer who discovered it.
Sometimes I’m caught off guard when the thought of you hits me so hard, tugging at my memories of you, so rare and so few. You’re the one person I’ll never get over – no real closure ’til I get to hold you a little longer.
Merry Christmas, Faith!