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By coujeaux Date: 2003 Oct 07 Comment on this Work [[2003.10.07.18.44.32407]] |
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News of the world, coffee stains on pictures; won't note the date, knows what it is; Flipping from someone else's tragedy to memory of her own, or perhaps it was his. Just like that, on her own; from what you know to what you don't, no time to think, Even the hole housing what's left of what she was isn't deep enough for her to sink. She looks above the shelf where it sits; wilted, unlilted; eyes tearing, heart searing, Were she to rue it she still must go through it, for an annual reunion is reappearing. Around her their youthful haunts seem to throw taunts; you've become as old as we, Throw open our door as we did long before, but it's just you, so how came this to be? She wanted to explain through her venous pain that she never meant to return alone, But it was dying man's request that she give her very best to continue life on her own. So here she comes to sit, further away than she'll admit; maybe to see him for awhile, When all that remains is fear you go where you sense him near, if only through denial. Landscapes reached yon high and stitched out the sky; understanding why at long last, At a dizzying pace they carried her to their place, where their eyes met as in days past. They laughed as children, fell in love as adults, started family, living an individual bliss, And on the same street they once ruled together, came a second, momentary first kiss. Back where she was, faded rose he gave her as he left glowed red, colors vibrant, anew; As she remembered him, he reminded her; would I have never been than be without you. |