I wish I could describe to you the dense silence when the snow had melted,
and you had left.
It was almost as loud as when you were still
here, but in a way that sharpened
the cruelty behind it.
When I walk through the river of people in the city
and I reach for your hand,
and it isn’t there,
I wonder, abstractly,
if I will ever melt into the flow of people--
until my beating heart sounds no different
than those around me, and it stops squeezing
and stuttering, inconstancies
which serve only to remind me
of you.
Mar 25, 2012
Mar 25, 2012 at 2:23 PM UTC
I wish I could describe to you the dense silence when the snow had melted,
and you had left.
It was almost as loud as when you were still
here, but in a way that sharpened
the cruelty behind it.
When I walk through the river of people in the city
and I reach for your hand,
and it isn’t there,
I wonder, abstractly,
if I will ever melt into the flow of people--
until my beating heart sounds no different
than those around me, and it stops squeezing
and stuttering, inconstancies
which serve only to remind me
of you.
