I pulled out the old photo albums
but was afraid to open them.
It would be like
tearing the bandage off a fresh wound
and sticking your finger inside.
There would be warmth,
but the pain would be unbearable.
So I leave the bandage
over the wound that should have healed
and stare at it from across the room.
It’s been three years,
and still I cannot speak your name.
I give nicknames to those who share it.
They think it is because I hate you.
It is because I still love you.
Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you,
some days, I think of nothing else.
I have tried to move on,
but there is nowhere for me to go.
The hill where I used to sit,
waiting for your visits,
is gone now.
The cave I called home
I wander the wilderness,
lost and afraid.
Even if you wanted to come home,
you could not find me.
John Mayer sings in the background.
He too, is “Dreaming With a Broken Heart”.
I should turn it off,
but the tears make me feel close to you.
It may seem as though you ruined me.
I didn’t exist.
for a moment in time,
I was loved.
The scarecrow stands,
Nothing like the one
from the movie.
He doesn’t sing,
Guarding and empty field
he waits alone.
The field, once alive,
is now dead.
The farmer tends the crops
She left him to guard alone.
He watches over a field of
Years now he has waited,
tattered and worn,
for the crops to return.
He will be ready.