I'm Sorry Deb

I'm Sorry, Deb
                  P.S.

Hanging out on a bridge suspended above the melodic
lull of a running stream.
Days of Winter and Summer, one after another, on and on
like the stream, unending.
Remember them, Deb?

The days and nights I would run down to that little
place to meet you.
We would meet right in the middle, suspended, hanging until
time would tear us apart.
Having to go home, but not wanting to.
Hopeful thoughts of tomorrow.

For three years that bridge and stream cradled us
and became our foundation.
Our love filled all the spaces trees, stream and bridge
could not.
We loved.

Now as I stop in passing our place to watch two kids
meeting breast to breast in laughter
through my mind's eye,
I realize it's only self tormenting
imagery.

We no longer exist and
I'm sorry, Deb.
For like the elements that destroy this place
through storm and calm,
so I destroyed you.

The bridge is battered and decayed.
Its painted words advertise sickness.
The waters are polluted and choke on old bikes and shopping
carts.
Their song is sad and slurred.
The scene that stands affronts me,
epitomizing what I've done to
us.

Battering you into the grave of my loving hatred.
How was I to know then what I'm dying for
now?
Our place was your sanctuary, your foundation, and
your comfort in memories when seeking escape
from my rage.

I've gone and you've moved away to a town
out of my reach.
You packed up all your misery and took it with you
only to open each suitcase to a more terrifying
loneliness.
What shall you hold on to when even the bridge
by which we crossed every river is gone?

So I let the memory slip into the stream and
the running water takes it far from me.
In leaving this painful sight to walk home
to my own hell on Earth,
I go to God saying
I'm sorry, Deb.

END