If
I left right now, would the ghost of you follow me, or would it wait in the old
building we called home for so long? A heavy object, a faded thing you left
behind, not meant for relocation – not now, not ever. Just a particle of us, of
a something that once used to be and cannot be forgotten.
I
flip a light switch, half expecting to see you sitting at the piano we’d bought
together, poised to touch the keys. Some random, phantom song you’d played
still lurks around the corner, a fragrance in the motionless, cold air.
Unnecessary
things worn threadbare, mended and re-mended parts of wounded spirits now flown
free, but somehow pining for that long-ago solidity that kept them tethered and
not drifting in the dark.
I
wonder where your feet are walking now; if you know how far they’ve taken you
from me. Do you ever look behind you? Do you listen to the birds sing, like we
used to in the park? Do your memories feed the loneliness that kept you up at
night, or do they soothe you like a lullaby, bring comfort to you in your
dreams? A solitary presence in this absent place and time. Like the everything
and nothing that you left for me to find.
Do
you dance between the shadows and the glow from distant streetlights? Does
anybody know you now, and did I ever know you then? The clock on the wall is
stagnant, and as my vision of you vanishes I can feel the numbers fall and
pile upon the floor. Or perhaps they fly away, slip past me through the open
window – the one without the candle I’ll always wonder if I should have left
burning there for you. A token of my wish that you could find me in the dark.
Or maybe I just wonder if you’d try to.
How
many days have I outnumbered in my many incarnations, turning old things into
new, recycling tears and faking hopeful strength? Turning moments into years
that pass me by without a word from you, without a thought of me. These walls
around me breathe but never let me draw a breath. They keep me close with
hollow, empty arms. No warmth – no beating heart to give them life. Only vacant
rooms with cloudy windows – views that look back on the things that used to be.
Surrounded by the past with you while you keep moving on. Forever here; forever
far away.
I
walk to the hill to watch the sunrise, thinking it’s still nighttime where you
are, or want to be. You always wore the evening like a blanket, traveled with
it to another new escape. When the sun comes home tonight I’ll leave this place
for good – lock up the memories and all my thoughts of you and leave them here
to wait for nothing. Only linger with the ghost of someone – just a someone –
who never wanted me to find him and is never coming home again. Traveling
onward, away from me. Away from here.
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