She only gets the third person now,
But still I think of the pavements
That have felt her feet as well as mine.

Will it always be like this as spring turns
To summer? Will those same feelings always
Return like a habitual holidaymaker?

She’d be amazed at what I remember: how many
Off the cuff comments and childhood recollections
Are doomed to remain parts of my memories even
After they leave hers. Once, perhaps, that would
Have made her smile.

*
In the darkness of a January evening, pavements
Still dampened by the ghosts of a million snowflakes,
I could barely see the place. Lighted shop windows,
Scarves, street furniture…I could have been
Anywhere. This is not the memory I wanted.

Like those of ages past, perhaps I should
Embark upon a pilgrimage;
Travel those long miles, make the journey
I was always going to make, see all that
She never showed me.

*
Once, she made me feel special; important.
We were both found out: I conned my way
Into her life, into her heart, just as
Surely as she conned me. Could there really
Be room for love amid the deceit?

She only exists in the third person now:
This is somewhat fitting in a way that
Only I will ever understand.

06/08/2015

Posted on 06/30/2015
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