Books and Covers
by Richard Vince
She littered my life with memories
Like the tiny shards of glass
That are never swept up. She has
Done the same to the world,
It seems: flung the fragments of
Her shattered self across its carpet.
Perhaps that is a consequence of
Not trying to find a home of one’s own;
The pressure inside builds until
An explosion is inevitable.
Or maybe it is what she always
Wanted, and the idea simply
Never occurred to me.
Her unruly hair drew my eyes,
Her unconfined smile drew my heart,
Her esoteric knowledge drew my mind;
But what would they have found
If they ever had the opportunity?
What is the story they would have
Found woven into her soul?
She was not a fantasy, you see;
She was less substantial even
Than that. It seems I never let her
Become three dimensional enough
Even to be what I wanted.
All I saw was a beautiful picture
That I enjoyed without ever
Considering the narrative inside.
It drew my attention many times,
But I continued to browse.
Now, at last, I have found my home,
I realise that it was never
Meant to be the same as hers,
And I wish her a heart
As full as mine is now.
Posted on 01/12/2019
Copyright © 2019 Richard Vince