Photo Album

Photo Album

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
years ago,
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
is sealed.
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.

Not so.

Before You,
I didn’t exist.
With You,
for a moment in time,
I was loved.

Why?

Why?

Why did you do this to me,
make me love you and then turn away?
It was easy for you to choose
someone more handsome,
more secure.

Why did you say you wanted me,
loved me,
cared for me?
Did you need me to be the one
to say “no more”,
so it would always be my fault,
my choice?

Why does God want us to love
when it is so painful?
It that His way of showing us
what it is like when we turn our backs
on Him?

Why do I still want you back
when you ripped my heart out,
stole my life?
It should be easy for me to hate you.
But things aren’t always as easy
as they seem.

Why do I get up each morning,
just to cry another tear?
Is Hope that strong?

He Is And He Isn’t

He is and He isn’t

The old man sits alone at the end of the bar. A mug of beer, half full and half empty at the same time, sits in front of him. He stares into the mug and in it he sees his past. Fifty years passed him by in the blink of an eye, and then again another twenty. He tries to drink away his regrets but every sip leaves him thirstier than the last one. The bartender smiles lightly at him as he orders a shot of whiskey. He never drinks it, only inhales the aroma of lost days and abandoned dreams. He spins the whisky on the table in a ritual that only he understands. I watch for a moment, then turn back to my conversation as he orders a second beer. My friend and I talk of nothing, and everything, of meaning and nonsense. A beer or two later I remember the old man and look back to see if he is still there. He is, and he isn’t. His head rests on the bar, a sad smile on his face. The bartender is in a panic. She franticly dials the phone but it is too late. He is there but gone. He died in the only place he ever truly called home. I shed a tear for a man I never met, but knew so very well.

 

(I promise that one day I will write something a little less…um…sad(?), but for now I will stick with what I know well).

Shattered Heart

Shattered Heart

Is broken the right word
for a shattered heart?

The pieces scattered
through memories
never completely fit again.

If time is the medicine
that cures the pain,
what is the glue
that holds the pieces together?

Love is both
the cure and curse.
I loved with all my heart
and paid the price.

As I put them back in place
the shards cut deep.
I bleed tears of joy
and sorrow together.

There is one piece
I cannot find.
The shape remains unfinished,
a hole in the center
that only you can fill.

Time Travel

I took a trip back in time today and made myself sad. It wasn’t intentional, this time, it just worked out that way. I traveled down roads I have not been on in years. I thought of faces I have not seen in decades. I recalled regrets that I thought were long dead.

The roads were the same as I remembered, straight, rough, a curve here or there. They traveled to places I called my own in my youth. There were more houses now then when I was young. As I drove, my mind wandered back through time. Passing one house, I saw myself standing in the yard, guitar slung way too low, trying to keep up with the real musicians, hoping she didn’t think me foolish. I can’t remember her name now. Further down the road Jennifer’s house passed by and I was instantly transported back to the high school library. We sat on the floor between rows of books, talking of what would come next in our lives. She smiled at me and gave me a memory that has lasted three decades. I wonder if she is as beautiful now as she was then. I wonder if she is still alive.

Next I turned towards the south and thought of all the times I had in that direction. I remember the hills and the woods and the stream and the girl I didn’t give a chance to. I remember the waterbed and how I wish I could go back and make things right. Though I would never have admitted it to anyone, I was afraid that I could never live up to her expectations. I was right. Thirty years later I had a second chance. I’m still a coward.

I thought of the games we played and the friends I had. In all that time I know the fate of only two of them. One married into the family. I hear of him only through the grapevine and speak to him only at funerals. The other one is a regret that will last another lifetime.

The trip lasted a little over an hour. It brought back many memories and many thoughts. I cried tears that had dried up years ago. It is a trip I don’t wish to take again anytime soon.

(this is pretty much how I spend my weekends, anyone got any better ideas?)

A Poem for Kim

A Poem for Kim

Your hair falls gently,
strand by strand from my hand
like leaves softly falling from
autumn trees.
The fragrance of it wafts to my nose
like the scent of a spring breeze
bringing hope of new life.
Your hands, soft and etched with
character, gently caress my own.
I would hold them forever if only
you would ask.
Tears soak into my shirt
as you cry for memories old and new.
I hold you tight and drink you in.
Someday I will not let go.
You allow me to look at you
as you sit next to me.
I find such beauty there.
If only you could see yourself
through my eyes.

 

I wrote this for a friend of mine some years ago. I don’t think she ever really knew how much I loved her. I do miss her so much, but life has other plans.