Saturday, February 01, 2014


30 January 2014

There was a sense of sanctity to every hello,
every goodbye. Every moment was precious,
because time was marked out
from the beginning. Everything was deeply felt,
marked profoundly by me.

I have come to assume that I was alone,
though that was the last thought I’d have welcomed
at the time. I believed that we were in it for good and all,
that love was what we had in common.

Losing us was violent,
unpredictable, even knowing in advance,
from the beginning.
It still hurts. Do you know? I didn’t until now.
Finding Sane, Happy, and Whole doesn’t change
the look of you walking away. Even here, inside Crazy Love,
it’s an image I’ll never lose,
though I’ve tried. I was right back then--you were a part of me.
I could only hope at the time that I was also a part of you.
The way you lived, there can only be room for regret;
if there’s room for me (there doesn’t need to be)
that’s the role I could expect.

We shared an awkward, ugly time. It seemed so lovely
at the times...though not always. I nursed the fear
you'd never turn around, see me cry.
You always turned your back.
I’m fairly certain you have no memory of my tears.

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George MacDonald

"Home is ever so far away in the palm of your hand, and how to get there it is of no use to tell you. But you will get there; you must get there; you have to get there. Everybody who is not at home, has to go home."

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