“What if this was the last time we spoke?”
She screamed into the phone at me.
And if I’m being honest, I would feel relief.
In every other part of my life I am so worried about what might come, so dedicated to practices of coming back to the delicious moments of now.
The sacred spaces of quiet moments that usually go unnoticed, giving them attention in a way that almost lets time stand still.
But what does that say about me if I wish there was only one more holiday with you? Or even if the last one was the last one?
One more final bow where I may know what it’s like to breathe fully again.
What does that mean about me if time is slipping through my fingers in such a supple, decadent way, but you are the bottle neck in the time capsule of sand?
I have tried foraging new paths in your labyrinth of madness
Turning right this time
Turning left that time
Digging under that time
Leaping over this time
But all that forms are more walls to bang my head against over and over again - something like the definition of insanity.
What if time has already done its bidding? What if I have already been robbed of those last moments with you?
What if I’m trying to bury a corpse that has long been dead, but whose ghost is determined to haunt me until I give in to its lunatic lullaby?
What if I ache for the ending? The curtain to drop its grand finale
Let me be.
Let me rest.
Let me live.
You have been gone so long, it’s time you lay to rest once and for all.
Comments