I think it was spring.
There was an easy rain
the previous few days
and the heavy sky rolled
in lazy grays and patterned waves.

I gathered my things from
the living room floor.
See, I can't really sleep
when there is someone else in bed.
I stay awake, memorizing every
curve and contour and careful breath,
to seer the sensation of hands resting
on my elbow, or breath on my shoulder,
as immutable fact into my mind.
For, I know how rare the moments
can be to find and hold for the night.
So, I slept on the futon in the living room.

I was there for a week, or so.
We used to spend every day together,
at least sharing dinner or lunch or tea.
But, the wheeling of time rolls
forward forever dragging onward
despite resolute determination
to halt or hesitate, or remain.
That week she was distant, distracted.
Lost in some daydream or fantasy.
I wanted to pretend she was the same
woman I fell in love with that night
in the rain beneath the eaves.

As I prepared to leave, the realization dawned.
I said good bye, we hugged, and she left.
Maybe my farewell lacked resolution,
or maybe it was written in cursive on my face.
She hesitated, then returned
through the side door.
She looked me square and said
"Don't cry. I'll see you again."
I wept that day,
not because I'd never see her again,
but because the woman I had grown to love
had become someone I no longer knew.