Archives for posts with tag: apart

The last ride went too fast. The terminal

expected her.

 

Dawn appeared half-heartedly and grey,

as we rose

from a night we didn’t want

to end; knotted stomachs

filled with morsels

of a breakfast unwanted, undesired, necessary;

then we drove

 

ten kilometres of silent goodbyes,

words caught somewhere between

heart and mouth,

tears falling and flooding,

we had to open the windows

to breathe.

 

The terminal expected her, waited for her.

I pulled in and we got out,

amidst a sea of travellers,

to verbalise again

what had already been said

under an inky night sky,

but not said enough.

 

The pain of separation, inevitable

but that doesn’t make it easier,

and it’s only for a time:

three months in waiting

after three weeks

of everything one could ever

want.

 

The terminal expected her

and it would have her. A kiss

and those words, burned into my memory;

I watched her walk away, ignoring

the attendants telling me

to move on, I watched her

through eyes glazed,

with a heart heavy

but full.

 

The last ride went too fast,

yet these three months can’t pass

fast enough.

 

She watches a sunrise, long

after me—the same

sunrise—my eyes see it and keep it clandestine because

even the sunrise knows

it’s not complete

until she sees it, counterparts of light,

she is sunrisical.

 

We’re worlds apart.

Three weeks in our own world,

living as careless lovers, lost

in each other, as if existence was conditional,

we lived in each other, sailing on waters unchartered,

somewhere in our hearts, connected,

falling

through the abyss, we haven’t landed yet, running

beyond that gate we opened, now lost

in a world hurled into because

Life, torn

apart but

I won’t let this storm inside

rip my sails apart,

 

I’ll keep rowing, even when

the wind dies down

and a fog descends; I’ll follow

my incomplete heart to find

the place she is.

 

These ghosts that live

all around me—reminders of

her—haunt me because

there is no other way, breathing

in every memory, oxygen isn’t enough, she sits

on a mountaintop

in my mind

and the path to her

is steep

and rocky

and if I rest

I might fall.

I’ll reach the top.

I’ll reach her, climb

 

until I reach her.

And when I do

I’ll breathe in the fresh air of her,

I’ll

finally

breathe

again

 

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