I could see the way
Light formed from the opaque
Wrapping around the white whisps,
of clouds long past now.
Becoming solid, filling with mass,
casting shadows, glancing past.
I had tears of a feeling not quite joy,
not quite fear. Not quite empty.
Not quite. It was just the tip.

I thought of a lover.
One I could now never introduce to my Mother.
In more ways than one.
More ways.

Yet, I look across the open field,
Of others vast imaginations,
romantic meanderings,
and dramatic, emotive yields.
I empathize, and oh, I can find a way to feel.
But this warmth is wounding,
This hope, isolating.

There are parts of me that are gone.
And you reading,
And those who have heard,
And those who sit staring,
thinking, dreaming,
that it will come back,
That I will change,
or become as I was in their minds,
once more. That I'll grow up.
Move on. Recover. Become whole.
Feel human. Be an adult. Find a real reason for being.
Not just existence, unforgiving you.

That just a little religion,
some art, or expression.
Maybe a girlfriend,
wherever or whatever that is,
Can somehow complete me.
Bring me back.

But I smile, fondly,
Melancholy.
It is now a part of my  being.
I am that I am, said God.
And I am the God of my own choosing.