sending pinpoints of light through my brain
darting over forgotten memory
finding images long-buried
faces, names, incidents
best left in shadow
best left alone.
Not long now
I know.
There, I see it …
Your face coming to the surface
like some ethereal spirit
tormenting
cajoling
distracting
I turn away
They say it takes half the time
as the length of a relationship
to recover from it
Then why am I still so focussed
on you?
I should have been able to move on
five weeks, three days and twelve hours ago
But who’s counting?
Not me.
Oh no.
Yet tonight I will dream of you
Because I saw us reflected on a screen – again.
Strange.
How a blank canvas
can be filled with such bittersweet
regret.
Bubble with
personal history.
They say write about what you know.
And I’m sure I know more than just you
but like a child with a sore
I have to keep picking at the wound
traipsing our lives out
for the public to view.
One day I’ll have to leave it alone.
And I will.
But not before you understand
the depth of what you did.
And the love I felt for you.
So, until that day,
I’ll call on what we had
what could have been
and put it on a flickering silver screen
for the world to witness
as I re-live the
shattering of my dreams.
© S McLean 11 April 2000
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