And Yet

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