She walks the other way,
Even though she recognizes
Him from a distance,
Some things are better
Left unaddressed rather
Than reanimated, causing
Further discomfort and pain.
It’s not so much that she
Can’t handle it but, rather,
That it’s not worth
Expending the energy on
To resolve in any way.
Her life different now,
No need to revisit.
I see him struggling
But it’s too late,
The poison has already
Worked its way in
Deep inside,
Immune to reason.
For the world to be
Whole, beautiful, loving,
We simply need to
Experience it through
The clarity of being healthy
Rather than filtering it
Through our wounded selves.
He’s still exactly
As she remembered him,
Whether that’s a
Disappointment will
Be revealed after
The conversation begins
And the things that
Have never been said
Try to make an appearance.
Standing
Across the
Road from the
Place where he
Grew up and
Reluctantly became
What he is today
And wishes to
Leave behind.
All I remember is
Being in the room,
Surrounded by people
Who I suspect would
Not show any emotion
Even if the situation
Demanded it, and feeling
Completely alone,
Without even the slightest
Connection to anyone,
A lost child walking
The wrong way against
A crowd, unable to see
Anything but knees,
And wishing I were
Anywhere but there.
Waiting for something
That might never happen.
Standing by
Just in case.
The days pass,
Nothing changes.
Optimism becomes
Hopelessness.
Another opportunity
To learn and grow.
I never realized I
Was that way until
It happened, life being
What it is, introducing
Its sundry twists and turns,
But I became aware of
Who I used to be, as well as
Who I am today, a person
I used to tacitly loathe
Or one I can look at in
The mirror without wincing.
He writes about the dark
Because he remembers
What it was like to be there,
Staggering around without direction,
Lost in recognizable surroundings,
Unable to reach out to ask
Someone to help alleviate his pain,
Not realizing solace exists,
A disoriented creature walking aimlessly
Down an unfamiliar street,
Looking for something, anything,
A long, convoluted journey toward
Some other, lighter place.
