As strange luck would have it, destiny crossed threads and tied another winding loop, and pictures of you flooded into my world once more. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt my heart alive inside my chest… and even longer since the true meaning of bittersweet shoved an aching religion into that heart like a spear. Even as I crack a smile I mourn for the frail woman-child I had all but forgotten in those memorable webs… You are now a grown woman with children at your feet, husband at your side, wedding pictures mounted in your hall and fresh flowers gifted on your desk at work in the morning.
As for the life we knew, we left our love in those quiet corners… the forgotten hearths that we had made, now sleeping in oak tree shadows between the clouds of dream. The amorous tales of humble streets are now hushed… reduced to a mumble of quiet remembrance, yet ready to unveil the barbs of memory when I seek to pry in the early hours. In wake of our love’s decline, I often wondered… did you fall asleep so many nights with the tears drying on your face? But it is no matter, for I know those tears have now given way to wedding tears… and mother tears… and as the sound of traffic pierces my wistful daydream, I awaken to feel the hardness of my heart and the dryness of my sobered eyes.
There is, I fear, a sadistic side of me that hopes to have awakened old feelings within you… but that jealous man will fail. I will fail to resurrect a heartache and put it back together. No, not even one last time. My fate is not yours, for our karmic deeds are apart and so are our newfound hearts. For years we have been nestled in the lives we’ve made for ourselves, and I would be a fool to think you could be torn from destiny’s arms at this matured point in time. I am doomed to play my part in the cycle of poetic justice… me a martyr, and you a victor… for I am nothing more than your eccentric, wayward ex-lover, left to wander in a lost realm of poetry and mysticism. Though we are now worlds apart I send my blessing across the ocean… across the sea of static that keeps me from trespassing into your life with the husk of a forgotten love.
© 2014 Brandon Gene Petit