Going Back

Between cobwebbed windows and cracked walls,

Torn sheets and spiders crawling freely,

He looks like an angel, or demon, or worse…

Carefully planned attire, decided and neat…

Teeth sharp and an attitude one can do without

He stands by the window alone and patient.

 

“I am older than I seem…” he whispers quietly,

Then turns to me sitting on the torn bed…

He tells a good story of sadness and lies,

I guess at the end it’s not a surprise.

He waves a hand and turns back the time

So I can see what was once mine.

 

The room we stand in is now large and lit up,

The dresses the women wear are something to cry about…

He looks all the same, he fits right in…

And waves his hand in my direction again.

The dress I now wear is of a blood red shade

The hair I possess falls in perfect curls around my face.

 

“Welcome home, love.” He smiles and offers his arm,

And I feel better and familiar again.

We walk around for a minute or ten,

I can see all that’s old and new like never before…

He can sense the confusion and pain…

“Do you wish to be back there again?”

 

He walks confident and possessive and laughs silently,

At all the men and women and their courtesy…

He tightens his grip every now and then…

He likes the company, it seems.

“Thank you for coming, I loved tonight…

I’ll see you tomorrow my silent delight.”

 

His whispers, his voice are never one and the same,

He loves the new person, he likes who I am…

We spend nights together talking about him…

We’re never the lovers, we’re always the friends…

He’s everything, and more… all I have.

My brother, my best friend, my previous life.