There was no time, but only
endless space; mercilessly drifting
past my door. All the should have
beens were now discarded, tomorrow
left no more than just another round of
endless tears to cry. The dreams that
came were mere distortions, of the
hope that loving you once was.
Perhaps in years to come,
look back upon the little while of
happiness we shared. Right now, I
did not dare to try to enter there.
A dark cloud gathered here, around
the world that used to seem so bright
before you left. Uncannily, the seasons
knew, and muted everything. Even
now, a misty wind arises to enforce
this great seclusion that I am.
Unworldly, this listless mood
yet never seems to give; much like the
love you claimed to have for me. There
are experiences in our lives that just
can't be forgiven. Unlike death, this
ending never had to be at all. Echoing,
I hear those words you spoke to me
back then: "If you say don't let go, I
will never let you go." Now you've done
so much more and less than any letting
go could ever come to be.
The silence screams, a high-pitched
no matter any noise I raise to try to block
it out. When I told you that our love contained
the meaning of my life, I really meant it, don't
you see? "It all happened so fast." That
was the last of lame excuses that you
handed me. It all happened so fast - the
promises you made lay shattered here
within the wreck you caused as you sped
off once again to live the pre-formed habits
of your previous existence -
the one that never held a place for me.
Perhaps one day, a phoenix
arise from all the scattered ashes
of my past. For now, I simply watch
the wind perform its scattering. So
many times, I've told myself - "it
simply doesn't matter anymore. No
matter how you feel, you cannot make
those dreams of love come true while
living here alone." I watch the phone -
it never rings your tone, not any more.
Every time a thought of you
connect; and I see you there (so far away
and yet so real), indulging other loves,
in ways you claimed would never come
to be with any woman besides me. How
is it that so many men are capable of this?
In and out of love, as if their hearts were
never really touched; still looking for no
more than just another moment's ecstasy
(and this just now and then). They seem
to think this part of life is somehow separated,
sacrosanct - as if love played no part within
reality itself. Like all religious lunatics - an
hour or so a week in prayer, and then reality
sets in again; the work week that can never be
equated to divinity at all. Their lives in hours
spent at playing all the trivial games abounding
in the corporate world these days.
Habitual excuses, that fit
them in a feel
of comfortable exclusion. So much easier
than all those deep relationships that love
and family can bring. You run away -
always has this been the choice you've made,
each time that rising feel of great uneasiness
arises there in you, and you let it just take over.
For months on end, those drugs you take
will keep you in a state that brings a type
of equilibrium. You've never dared to take
the time to find another way.
You went cold turkey when
to me; then blamed me when I couldn't
soothe the symptoms of withdrawal and
send them far away. Since you left, your high
has never known a moment of repentance.
Warped and twisted, blame becomes
the only game you ever wish to play.
And I know that I was blessed in many
ways, that day you left. Yet still, I
cannot seem to take a step into a
healthier direction, no matter all I've
come to understand within the slow, sad
times that I have spent so all alone.
It feels as if my heart still
somehow in between the here and all that's
there. And no matter what I do, I cannot seem
to make it come back home to me alone. It's
been too long, too hard - the climb - how is it
that the fall became so swift and so complete?
When and where will these, my feet, come to
find the ground of earth again? Mother Nature
seems to feel the same as I these days. Autumn
mist and rainy days; cool to cold, this fall remains,
and it is so much more than ever I could be.
There is no time, but only
endless space; mercilessly drifting
through my head. And all the "should
have beens" have been discarded;
tomorrow waiting for another round of
tears to cry themselves through me.
The dreams that come at night are
mere distortions, of all the hope that
loving true can bring...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home...