Six years down the road
perhaps there will be
another woman who
will stir heaven
in my solar plexus.
Perhaps the sound
of her laughter
will arouse life in me
that I believed
would be dormant
through the eternities.
Like a sleepy willow
transformed to a palm.
I can finally see the sun again,
but it isn’t for me.
It is only meant to warm
my skin, my heart,
and my cheeks pink
and full of acceptance.
The red speckled flesh
is cooled by the tears
that fall while
bedsheets are tucked
between chin and collarbone.
I am wishing her well
as they fall
onto tan linen.
I am envisioning
everlasting joy for her
because even if I
saw this all wrong,
I still want
the best for her.
I still want to know
that her heart doesn’t know
the pain mine does.
I prefer the notion
of being wrong.
I prefer the notion
of this pain being
a solitary unreciprocated experience.
To let go of someone you love
is less bitter when the letting go
is an expression of
how dear they became to you.
I want to let her go
like I would have loved her.
With tender and conscious intention.
I want to set her down soundly
before I turn and walk away.
I want her to know that
I am a better woman because
her light touched my life.
I will leave no trace
of my broken heart.
No grievances.
In six more years
I may meet another
who makes me sway
from the dizziness
her presence brings.
From the spiritual reboot.
From the power in her becoming.
In six more years I
may be ready when
the rug is pulled from
under my feet,
or maybe I’ll wear
a helmet just in case.
There is no more
time to linger here.
There is no more time
for suffering for something
that never was.
I will try to be gentle
with myself.
I will cry when I need to.
Eat too much chocolate too.
I will forgive myself for
getting lost in an illusion.
I will have hope that the
Lord’s path for me will lead
to a woman as
remarkable and familiar
as she is.
Better yet…
I will have hope in
my potential to become
who I seek.
