Debris

I used to love a boy,
Yes a boy, not a man, I do believe,
But I don't think he ever loved me very much,
Such things you realize quite quickly,
However much you try,
After some time,
Even the love cannot hide what is and what is not.

This is not the story, don't worry, it would be a terrible one.
What is important is that even though you fall out of love,
And you have forgotten the flavor and the smells,
That would rush to your head,
Make you flush every time his name was mentioned,
Or he would put his hand on your shoulders,
And you would turn around...
These things disappear in the depths of other emotions,
And, turning around, you will never look at him in the same way.

It takes time, don't get me wrong,
To displace love,
Because no matter what people might say,
Some of them are not made for keeping.
Although I often encourage people to keep the feeling with reverence,
Hoping that this is the feeling that redeems even the poorest of souls,
Not all of your loves need to be remembered in names and characteristics,
Some, well, cannot be changed.

It took me almost two years two forget one of them,
Rationality fails me at this point,
But hopefully somebody knows why.
Nevertheless, this morning I woke up
And followed my daily habits to excellence...

Perhaps at this point, a side story is appropriate,
Never mind my slight dislike for storytelling in poetry,
There was a brief encounter between myself and this boy,
An occasion brutally disturbing on my part,
But surely innocuous the rest of the world and him;
Nonetheless, two years does not always span alike,
A truth, so obvious, but so important for this story.

I will have to pace myself on this matter and unfortunately avoid details,
Because everybody knows this story,
In one way or another,
Let us just say,
We were both exactly the same after two years.

I was hoping that I had been right to fall in love,
And he, he was still confident that I was hoping.

So, to return to my earlier tirade,
I woke up and followed my daily habits to excellence,
And for the first time I could see him and me,
Just as we would have been written about in a,
Pardon me, quite ordinary narrative,
And it is very, very...

It is not a cloud that has been lifted,
It is not as if a long wished for dream has been taken,
It is not like my days go on any differently,
But I can now hear his name without flinching,
Today I could pass him in the street without crossing,
I could even hold a conversation,
Without feeling my heartbeat racing to reach the end of all worlds,

Perhaps, freedom, yes, in the slightest sense of the word,
I feel free.
I will not have to cross a road I am walking on,
It is mine, as long as I stumble along it, gracefully or not.

A story so simple, I do apologize,
But loving is terribly hard as we all know,
And owning yourself is an essential part,
Of ever loving anybody else.




Poetry by Angie-M
Read 919 times
Written on 2012-02-10 at 04:34

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