Midnight In Love

I’m not actually any different from anyone who’s ever loved anyone so deeply.

I’m not actually any different from anyone who’s ever loved anyone so deeply.

I think of you probably as much;

I’m just as lost, as confused by your leaving

As anyone in all the ages of lovers being left.

We have been searching for this answer through all of time:

Why did he die?

Why did he leave?

Why did she not want me?

Why did she reject my love?

Why not accept the reality of us, of what we so clearly felt?

Why choose to forget what beauty we shared…?

Did he not know I would die, too,

Without the sunshine of his presence?

Did he not know that I would be ripped from the very soil, which was him?

Did she not know that I loved her?

Did she not realize how much I would have done for her, how I would have given anything, everything? That I still am, to this day?

Was our reality too much to bear, too challenging for the wish of the world we faced? Did our feelings truly challenge everything?

Did only I consider every moment we had together the most exquisite seconds in life…?

These questions rest in oblivion,

And the only rest I have is the rest I feel when I know I still love you,

When I know I am still in love with you.

It was the only rest I ever felt, in that way.

It was the only you I ever knew.

And this memory is not a memory.

We lived those moments in eternity…

And I am waiting for the stars to realign for you-and-me…

Because I am still in love,

And will always be.

Transitions

So,

I am alone.

So,

I choose to be.

So,

My heart aches for you.

So,

I would rather this than confusing pain.

So,

I am alone.

So,

The leaves still tremble on their trees;

And they are not enough for me

‘Til they transform to a pair of butterflies

And one chases the other on an Indian Summer afternoon.

Then,

You are enough for me

And my love is enough for me

And my poetry is enough for me

And the trees are enough for me

Because we are still connected

Like the wasps around the trees

Like the sun and the leaves

And maybe

We are but changing like deciduous leaves:

Dying,

Falling from our native home,

Becoming part of something new…

So,

We are still connected

Though

It may not seem to be

And

We may never speak again

But

Perhaps we will.