Mnemosyne

                                                            

 

I am surprised at how much I actually think about her. It has been about six months and I still cannot shake the memory of her soft, marshmallow like physique. I have committed every facet of her being to memory, yet when I try to visualize her face, I get a hazy image, like a lens that is out of focus. I just keep seeing her in everything, every face, every cloudy day, and every sad song just brings her back like a horrible disease that flares up at the most inopportune moments. It’s comical; I cannot go ten seconds without relating something to her. Pathetic, a very horrible way to live life, I pity myself sometimes. But when I am alone, with only the moon to keep me company, I sit there and enjoy the silence. I seep into the cushion of my couch and think of how wonderful it would be if I could just have one more chance to admire her, in her everlasting glow that time has done well to preserve. I cannot honestly say she was a kind woman, or that her heart belonged to me alone, but one thing I know for certain, is that on that night, in that hour, in that very moment, we were one, mind body and spirit.

 

After the warm and touching feelings have gone, I am left with only regret, the regret from believing her. For trusting that her wild eyes would be satisfied with my own, as ordinary as they were. For thinking about her, to this day, hoping she would return and we would live happily, after all, it is too painful for a person so full of life to stay with a person, so devoid of it. I am still amazed we lasted as long as we did. But she had an insatiable thirst, a thirst that would not be quenched for the remainder of her pitiful existence.

 

She still haunts this house, she hides in every room, every empty hall, she hides in the old t-shirt where her scent still lingers, in the toothbrush that was never thrown away, in the indent where the couch still slumps, on the patio where she would spend her summer nights sitting in her favorite chair, waiting for the world to come to her, in her guitar, into which she poured all her emotions, in the bathroom where the rings from her baths still remain, on the floor, where a scarlet stain is the last marker of her ever existing, and in my heart, where she is deeply embedded, like a cancer that grows stronger with every beat, a festering wound that will never close, a smoldering inferno that shall never be quelled.

 

I have sobbed and sobbed, and now I am raw. My senses have abandoned me and I seldom sleep. She squandered her life away, and left me with only obscure memories of our mundane life together, which will sustain and push me forward. She burned with all the intensity of a newborn star, wildly passionate and reckless, and just as soon as her light reached me, just as I began grasp what she was saying, she vanished, leaving nothing behind. But I no longer worry, I know we will meet again, amongst the cosmos; we shall be lovers for eternity, forever confined to our celestial crypt. 

Reviews

[Davey Jones]

very unique poem with lots of unique moments and words