My tears fill the well that was designed for them.
Soon traveling down my cheeks and chin.
As creeks or streams might allow a mountain's rainy day runoff,
To gently pass over stone.
Triggered by a scent, a sound, a thought,
A dagger like sting from a memory of,
What could have been.
Perhaps the fearful gaze upon a future
That may lay ahead.
And so they fall.
Dying my eyes red.
In silence, I try to gather my thoughts,
Odd for someone whose thoughts
Placed him in this predicament
And as I stack them.
Neatly. I might add.
The breeze of your memory knocks them to the floor.
Again.
Because this has happened before.
You have done this to me once again.
This time your presence wasn't even necessary.
To cause this cascade of solemnity.
But I realize that sadness,
Isn't what I endure.
Rather reflection,
Similar to the one emerging on the countertop,
Under my chin
That grows with every drip and drop,
Grants that sadness has left me,
But each memory's searing pain
Doses me with lonely regret of squandered opportunity.
Which stabs at my heart.
The dripping soon subsides,
And with face stained scarlet.
I wipe away the remnants
Of my rainfall.
From face and counter.
And prepare the shielded smile.
That has protected me,
Since you left.
I prepare my next joke
Buttoning it from intro to punchline
Hoping that it garners a laugh.
So that, even if vicariously,
I can smile.