by Darcy Oldham
The Reminiscence of a Love, Never Grown.
|I heard your laughter in the halls today. It could have been anyone, but it was you. I would recognize that soft exultance of life anywhere, as close to me as my own voice. These are the days when I miss you.
It was yesterday when I was trying to cry. Your happiness stifles me, I can't think of any other way to let myself out. You are where you are, I am where I am, we are not together but alone in my mind. I am weary of not knowing. It stings my eyes and chisels out the indigo bruises beneath them. I am usually so unmovable, as marble, but you are the craftsman, the artist that makes fluid my stone skin.
I wonder if I have ever been any different, was made to feel foreign to what I do. But I know nothing else.
I will know nothing else, long after we are both passed into the Else that lies before us.
It's only your contentment, your ignorant bliss, that makes all of this OK. Because you are where you are, and I am where I am, you do not know what I know. It would only confuse you, distract you from that which is infinitely more important. It is not the time for anyone to know anything. It is the time for both of us to grow and let the pieces fall where they will. I will see where fate leads me, and you will do what you do.
For now, I will hear your laughter in the halls. I will move forward, you will come back, and we will see if what we are can grow together. If not, I will walk away heartless, burning, but you will be none the wiser. That is better.
Make no mistake, I will never forget. That is impossible. You are me. All roads lead to you. But where they lead after that is anyone's guess.