by Angel Liu

Created on: June 15, 2008

Permission

The day is raw,
that hour when love
disappears. Through a
door the flash of red,
the remnants of
what used to be, a slight
swoosh of wind that
smells like he or she.
Left overs served cold.

All manner of efficiency
Digits flashing, the subtle
bell of a message
drives time on, we are busy,
busy, busy. Yet we
are unable to forget
the crash of memory,
when we know today,
it is today that you
no longer love me.

At least death has the
dignity of eternal sleep,
a last act of flourish, the
elegant fin. But not the
departure of love which
requires you to wake
again, bleary eyed, stained,
mocked by company,
and totter drunkenly
for a second act then
a third then a fourth
the pointless more and more.

You crumple into a
parody, for a while you
can only mimic who
you used to be, back
then when you were
glowing warm in their
arms, and the earth gave
its secrets through
both of you, generously.

I will not finish this
happy, I will not pretend.
I will show you the full
And utter extent of tragedy.
It is not being alone.
It is finding that one, the
Only one who finally banished
that word for you and
finding out, you and that
one, that oh so loving one,
will never ever be.

Now, you can cry.

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