by Richard Vince

It was the longest of shots,
The most pathetic attempt
To find something that I had
Never had in the first place,
A blink of futile nostalgia.

Teenage me gave her ragged wings,
And of course she flew away.
Could have been, I said, but
She was never close enough
To slip away: just a face and
A snuggly jumper in the ocean of
Inconsequence in which I was
Barely a wave.

Twelve years later, I followed,
Stepping in ancient adolescent
Footprints as I regressed ahead.

Her face is vivid like song lyrics
In my memory, like the dirge
Distilled from my pining
Into something truly unpalatable.

Somehow, I made her matter
After so many years since
Nothing happened. But it was
A big city for just one night,
And so I walked her twilit streets
With anonymity unthreatened.


Posted on 09/24/2020
Copyright © 2021 Richard Vince

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 09/24/20 at 09:29 PM

I like!

Posted by Rob Littler on 09/25/20 at 05:38 PM

I travel right back there with you in this piece, the raggedness and lamenting ache is real real real real, real made more so by memory which I have come to see is more of a feeling than a moment, or place and time... so why should an intensity such as this not be revisted time and time again without the sense of years passing or that time matters at all or ever will or has ( lol ) of course it does to our linear needs, but the truth is pain is pain no matter sophmoric or culturallly justified... and one good pining is all it takes to be broken forever

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