In another life, she was a dancer,
And I was the keeper of the
Worst kept secret in the world.

Now all I keep is the sound
Of her voice in my ear:
Not even words, just the essence
Of what she said and didn’t say,
Of what I knew and didn’t know,
Of who she was or was not.

Her face is not the same
But is definitely hers;
Such is the passing of years
From youth to the foothills
Of middle age.

Her smile has changed too,
From rare and hesitant to
Wide and heartfelt; I hope
It betrays the joy she always
Deserved but could never quite reach.

Perhaps that is enough
For me. Perhaps I can finally
Let go of the words she wrote,
The places she loved, accept
That our lives will only
Curve away from one another,
And that her world is one
I will never visit.

There will always be memories
Though: grains of glass like
A fine dust that will never
Wash out but every so often
Catches the light and reminds me
That I was not dreaming.

12/05/2022

Posted on 03/13/2023
Copyright © 2025 Richard Vince