i don't think of what might have been   not much

of the whys and wherefores

i am content with where i find myself   and with whom

when i do look back   i can smile at what was   feel lucky

to have been a part of others' lives  

an intimate part   to have had them be a part of mine

even when it hurt   i can look past that

we talked about it today

i was surprised how readily the words came 

how quick i was to remember   how vividly images appeared  

and the rest   the longing   the ache  

the sigh that followed   then   your words in response

which put me over the top   i am drained   spent   but happy    

ready for the here and now   but the ache   it stays

~

marketa knows you   as well as she can   

as well as i can

knows that you listen   that we share truth and fantasy

no   she doesn't know you   she knows

a little of you

where you live   what you do   the rest   that is between us

it isn't because of jealousy that i don't tell her more

it is that your life is yours

and what you've shared with me is meant for me

those shared words are gifts   i keep them

in a safe place   marketa understands   she had a life of her own

before me   she has a life of her own now

she asks about my sighs   traces of tears   i told her we had talked  

that i was lost in the past   she understands that too

~

but it won't do   i shake it off

melancholy 

is not only unattractive   it's tiresome

it's useless   i cannot be sad when marketa is here  

and i don't want to be  

i want cook dinner   and do the things we do so well

i do tell her about julie   the cause of my relapse

i find some photos

she is so young   so happy   we were happy

which explains a lot   but that was then

and it ended for a reason

leaving us distant friends   sending a birthday greeting

or the occasional email out of the blue

when days like this come along

~

marketa asks what i loved about julie   i talk about

her innocence

that we grew up together

took refuge from difficult home lives in romance 

how that changed as we grew up  

each of us finding our own way   our own wants

how one kind of love became another  

that wistfulness is for what was  

not a longing to have it back   and the ache   i can't help it  

it's real   it's what's left   a remnant of young love

i wouldn't give it up if i could   marketa wouldn't ask it of me

then   it's done   i put away the photos

turn to marketa   i know i'm twice lucky

lucky to have known love   lucky to have it again