Already,
a chapter
in a dusty, untouched book,
distant behind an alluring silk ribbon bookmark,
with transitioning colors.
In the mind’s eye,
you’re the arduous stone
upon this never ending,
ever changing path to the Sublime,
that I stumbled over
and scrutinized for a brief,
abruptly ending moment.
Looking back down these Tracks,
which incessantly shift forward
beneath my feet,
a mean looking fog,
catches the eye,
about right where you were
last seen standing.
some might question
from where about did this fog arrive?
Was it from the patterns of sounds,
that magically made me think of you?
Was it from the air,
which pierced through the very flesh
of the hand scraping these feelings onto paper?
No, that is not where it’s from.
That is not where it is from, at all.
My very own being tells me that
it’s from the constant shaking and tensing of my nerves,
the sweat upon my brow,
that I felt every time our hearts
were forced nearer and nearer to
each other.
This fear secretly held a gun to my head
and told me
“take a Right at the fork in the road”.
Turns out,
fear convinced you
take a Left.
The end.