Without invitation, open or otherwise
I still turn to you first;
a habit born of turmoil and comfort.
The melodies we sang - splinters in my heart;
though memories fail to fade, they threaten to overwhelm
life’s required routines,
while I remain forced through circumstance
to bare witness to a love
dissipated and buried but not lost.
And yet…
There remains you,
where the past and present remain inextricably intertwined
and every day stands
a stoic and unforgiving sentinel,
an armored barker of withered bonds,
looming over picked wounds,
while I pay dearly and daily for lessons in letting go.
Oh how missed you are…
