I want to cry in the mourning of something I have not yet lost.
I live constantly concerned that the destructive actions of my soul that commence,
Like a reflex not simply in my body,
But somewhere so submerged in my fragile being and conscience
I cannot and do not manage to withhold the wreckage
Within me once it begins to emerge...
I will tarnish the things that have been my cradle,
My sanctuary of happiness and level headedness.
Interpreting your every move, almost anxious for any
Give away signs of lost hope, lost lust, lost companionship
Despite the metaphor of its definition,
Companions you cannot be over miles of land and sea...
It’s as if all this space between us is at retracting magnet ends,
Or a snow storm battling a deserts sand swoops.
Yet, throughout all of my own battles of emotion...
I secretly know you are in blissful ignorance, for you do not
feel time should be kept anywhere, least of all in a waistcoat pocket.

I’m spinning in the
Underwhelming haze of my own imagination
I’ve been in your hometown before
Familiar is your soft husky voice that is
The only lullaby to my ear
Yet the need to hear your conscience
Is still just as desperate
As a whisper to the sea salty
Atmosphere of our love.
You, and only you bare nothing of my knowledge
You, and only you hold permit to my inside.
Yet you are the only that has not had me, or my knowledge
For you have chosen as yet not to take it.
You do not have the right to it in your eyes.
Because everything in this world works…
Backwards.
As I work in a mirror
Of a hundred pieces.

For the first time in ten months
And three days
I do not miss you.
I can breathe without you here
I can function as myself
This is not through my lesser loving for you
Or any less longing for you
Nor in any doubt of your love for me…
But in confident ease
Of our returned love and respect
We are two humans
We are separate
I see this now
I am no longer a possesive being
For we are joined
At the soul?
In fate?
I haven’t a clue
And never have
We are ever changing
Ever growing in our ways and beliefs
The likelihood of us being forever is like
A penny in a puddle
Existent
Possible
But highly unlikely for any one to find
And even less likely for someone
To attempt to reach.
For they forget the joy
That penny could potentially give.