They say everyone’s been through it
but you can’t fathom how or why
they emerged on the other side.
To awake each morning and look forward
to falling asleep that night
and knowing the difference you spot
in everyone else’s face
is what they’ve got that you don’t have,
not love like an inner fire that burns,
but the hope one day it’ll be their turn.
The first one ever you thought was the last,
she was gonna be your reason to get old.
Now you write a plotless tale,
filling pages out of habit.
You wrapped her in a desperation cloak,
or maybe it was Marley’s chains
that kept her out later each time.
Or perhaps that one foot you left planted
on the ground when she wanted to fly.
Who knew that when they said love lasts forever
they meant only on one side.
You toast to nothing, but you drink,
because it brings what may not be joy,
but it’s the closest you can get
to the fading remains
of a memory of what it felt like.
It’s a long way from her to here.
Looking up, trapped beneath the rubble
of a cave-in no one knows happened,
but you know was all your fault.
Songs you used to like
now tear you into
at least two.
You know if your heart survives the hours
forever it’ll walk with a limp.
It’s a tough year for the flowers.
If you’d known the shape
of how this would feel,
or at the very least the weight,
you’d have done anything
and everything to make her stay.
These days you don’t bother with vegetables,
You’re just trying to stay comfortable
while you play out the rest of the string.
You listen to old George Jones
tell you how it’s all gonna end.
You never liked wreaths on the door,
so you try not to make new friends.
Most times you seek distractions.
Sometimes you Netflix and kill
any feelings that remain
with the purest grain
you can find.
Sometimes at night you just stare
out at that Avalon moon
glowing up those foreign waters,
and you can’t help but think
it’s a long way from her to here.