Maybe the problem is that I put my faith in a ghost.
I compare every subsequent path to someone who left
Without saying goodbye
And yet
The frozen perfection of kindness
Is enough to bait my breath
And hold me in suspended animation for the rest
Of my days nights afternoons evers
And ever and ever and ever again.
And yet, never did I receive anything by way of an explanation.
Never did I gain closure, relief, the courtesy of definition
And yet.
And yet. And yet. And yet.
And I get no feeling of being seen
In quite
The way
That he saw me
Then.
I get no relief in being known
The way
He knew me
Then.
And now?
Now is not then.
I am worse
For wear
And I tear myself into quarters
Like papers caught in the act of concealment
Erasure
The consolation of knowing that drawing and then quartering up
A document
Renders it invisible.
I am your retraction.
The attraction of a frayed end
A complete lack of explanation
A hesitation when I asked, amid tears,
Recovering from a terrible betrayal
I reached for your hand across the kitchen table
I said
Why did you
And you gave me
No response
And yet.
And yet you were still the frozen image
Of perfection
Of understanding
Of seeing what no one could see
Your compassion
Your gaze
Your
Your
Your
And yet
Still yours
After all of this silence
This no explanation
Lack of an answer
I am in love with the frayed edges of a cut rope
Of a hypothetical
Of a once
Of a yet
Of an almost
I am still waiting for punctuation
OB, 4 Oct 2019