mark_simondi

We were but children fighting over the choicest of gifts.

We bit, snarled and scratched over the most sumptuous of morsels.

We didn’t know any better.

We hadn’t experienced, didn’t understand that what we had in our grubby little paws was everything that mattered.

We weren’t going to find anything better, because what we had was the best.

We have nothing now; we are choking on dust, grasping at smoky apparitions and realizing what we’ve lost.

We can sense that empty hole where our hearts once beat in rhythm.

We are at a loss when no one finishes our sentences for us or doesn’t understand what was once perfectly obvious.

We are not whole because the largest pieces are missing.

We are now uncomfortable with silence, but nobody is whispering and nobody is shouting and nobody can say anything we can feel.

We are no longer us.

Hope.
Tied inextricably to dream.
You give it to me freely.
But make it impossible to accept.

Dream.
We used to share one.
And then we both changed.
Can we still see the same thing?

Life.
You used to be mine.
And me yours.
Are we suddenly selfless?

I can see you in the car with your face turned up. Your neck is beautiful as it moves to express the passion in your voice. I can see your wet eyes as they pool all your emotions and keep the damn from leaking. I wish I could make it go away. I wish I were still your darling.

I know your name. That may seem insignificant to you, but it means a lot to me. It means I can call an angel by her name. I know what you look like, which mean the woman of my dreams now has a face. I know what you smell like. Now every time I catch a fleeting scent, I will be reminded of you.

It is awfully early to be feeling this way. The sun has barely risen and I already know it won’t be touching my soul today. I will stay sequestered in gloom. Untouchably morose.

If I look through myself, I am afraid I won’t find you there.